Nectar of the Gods
by LunaEquus
Summary: A chilling realization leaves Kartik and Gemma on the run for their lives. Who can they trust now but each other? On their quest to sort out the mess that has become their lives, they learn a few things about each other, and inevitably themselves.
1. Prologue

**So I've done humor and romance, and now it's time for an actual plot fic!  
I'm not Libba Bray!  
**

"Sanjiv, I'm frightened," I say in a frantic whisper. My husband says nothing. I study his face, desperate to see any sign of comfort. His dark eyes reveal nothing. His handsome features are set in a grim expression, which upsets me further. "What is wrong with you? Don't you care? Our son -,"

"It is an honor," he says firmly.

"But Sanjiv, Amar was an honor! Why do they want Kartik as well?" Hot tears splash down my cheeks.

"They read the prophecy wrong. Kartik is the one they want, not Amar."

"But why must they take both of my sons?"

"It is an _honor_, Kashvi." He turns to me and for a moment I see a flicker of sadness. "They come for him tomorrow."

"He's just a child. My sweet baby boy," I whimper.

"You've woken him up," Sanjiv says, pointing behind me. Kartik stands near the stairs, rubbing at his eyes.

"Mama," he says softly, reaching for me. I sweep him into my arms and hold him close to me.

"You're getting so big, Kartik!" I say, trying to sound cheerful for his behalf. "Soon I won't be able to lift you up…" I trail off; the painful reality that this is the last time I may ever hold him hits me hard. My throat swells with tears and I bury my face into my son's soft curls.

He says nothing, because he doesn't understand. He rests his head on my shoulder sleepily. I take him back to his bedroom and tuck him back into bed. "Mama, I don't want to sleep." He yawns.

I smile sadly. "You're tired, my darling. You need rest; you're going on an adventure tomorrow and you need to be strong."

"Where am I going?"

"You're going to be with Amar again, darling," I say, smoothing the front of his shirt. Kartik smiles.

"I miss Amar," he says.

"So do I." I gaze at my son for a few moments. I take in his soft features, sweet and angelic. I know he'll grow up to be handsome, and I'm devastated I won't get to witness it. When Amar was taken by the Rakshana, I vowed that things would be different for Kartik. But now his future has been stolen too.

There will be no weddings, no grandchildren, and no broken hearts to mend. Kartik will grow up to be cold and strong like the rest of the Rakshana. My baby, the chosen one. He was specially picked to be trained for the most important role of all. He will stand as protector of the high priestess, the first born in decades. That is what one of my sisters saw in a vision – my son among the highest ranks of the Rakshana joined with the leader of the Order.

"What kind of adventure?" Kartik asks, yawning again.

"Oh, a big one! There's even a princess!"

"Really?" His eyes grow wide. My heart aches. I hope he will find love, even though it is forbidden by the Rakshana. "Is she pretty?"

I smile. My son, the romantic. "She's beautiful, and she's just one year younger than you." I met with her mother, one of my fellow sisters, to inform her that her daughter was prophesized as the high priestess. She was shocked. We may be members of the Order, but we know of the dangers the realms bring for all involved. We both cried for our children that day.

"What does she look like, Mama?" Kartik is wide awake now.

"She has golden red hair and skin the color of ivory. And her eyes are like emeralds."

Kartik makes a face. "What's emeralds?"

"This." I hold up my necklace, where a large emerald is set. Kartik stares at the stone in awe.

"When will I meet her, Mama?"

"I don't know, darling." I brush the hair from his forehead and kiss him. "But you will be her prince."

"Will I have a sword?"

I laugh sadly. "Perhaps."

"Will we live happy ever after?" He asks, unable to pronounce happily.

"I hope so."

"Am I going to marry her?"

His question strikes at a nerve. I lower my voice. "If you want to, marry her," I whisper. Without thinking, I pull the wedding band from my finger and put it in his hand. "If you love her, give her this. But don't tell anybody about it, understand?"

"Yes Mama," he says softly, flipping the ring over and over in his small palms.

"Kartik, listen to me carefully," I say, placing my hands on his shoulders. "If you are ever in doubt about anything, follow your heart, darling. Always follow your heart."

"Okay Mama," he says.

"I mean it, darling," my voice rises, carrying with it more tears. "You are destined for great things. But don't let anyone make you think you're trapped. There is nothing you can do that will disappoint me."

"_Okay Mama_," he says firmly. He scowls as he always does when I lecture him. I place another kiss on his forehead.

"Well, sweet dreams my love," I whisper. I sit next to him until his breathing grows deep and steady. My heart breaks again as I leave him sleeping, completely unaware that his life will change forever in the blink of an eye.

I am met with my husband in the hallway outside Kartik's bedroom.

"You shouldn't have told him such things, Kashvi," he says quietly.

"You were listening?" I ask, wondering why he wouldn't come in to kiss his son good night for the last time. "Why didn't you come in?"

Sanjiv turns away. "Fathers are supposed to be strong for their children. I didn't want him to see me upset."

"You are strong," I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't respond. Instead, he changes the subject.

"You know he is forbidden to marry. Why would you tell him otherwise?"

"Because I want him to be happy!" I say defensively, taken aback by the austerity in his voice. "He is going to be faced with all sorts of danger and tough decisions to make and I want to know that whatever he does, he'll do the right thing."

"He is six years old, Kashvi. What makes you think he will remember any of this?"

"Because I want to think that I had some part in raising my children correctly!" I grip the banister of the staircase tightly. "I know the Rakshana is an honor. I know he will be well taught and taken care of. But he won't have a childhood. Come tomorrow, he will be forced to grow up too fast. He may have power some day, but what good can come of it if he doesn't have a heart?"

My husband is quiet. "I am sorry, Kashvi. I'm sorry it had to turn out this way for you."

"So am I," I say, thoroughly choked up. My head feels heavy from crying. "I feel as if it's my fault, because of who I am."

"Because you're a member of the Order? Don't be ridiculous. It's not your fault that Amar and Kartik were chosen."

I nod miserably. "It is. They have magic in their blood. The realms are a part of them both. That is why Kartik was chosen for his role, that, and because he is close in age to the high priestess. It's my fault."

"So you're saying you'd have rather never had children at all?" Sanjiv asks. When I don't reply, he walks to our bedroom. "It could've been worse, Kashvi. It could have been a lot worse for them. Consider this a blessing." With that, he disappears through the door, leaving me in silence, with nothing but my misery to keep me up through the night.

**If you couldn't tell, Kartik's mother is one of the Order. Shocking! This is just a prologue. Expect drastic changes. It makes sense though, because Gemma's mother was told about Gemma's "specialness" when Gem was 5. Which meant Kartik was 6, the same age he was taken by the Rakshana. **

**Little Kartik is oh so squeezable! Just picture little Gemma as a hyperactive girl with dirt on her face and curls sticking up in every direction. I know that's what I was like when I was 5! **

**My pen name is,  
LunaEquus**

**Ooh! And my birthday is on Friday!**

**(PS I got the teaser book! The prologue and first 4 chapters of Sweet Far Thing! AMAZING!!!)  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! I was stunned! I've never gotten so many in just a day! And as thanks, here's a new chapter! **

It was early June, almost a year since the day when life took a turn for the worst and all innocence was lost. Gemma was home from school for good, and things were quiet, far too quiet, considering previous events during the year. Most of me was on edge, waiting for something, anything to go wrong, but a small part of me wanted to believe that things had finally settled into place. Part of me enjoyed the dull routine that had become my daily life.

For the first time in my entire life, I was on my own. I finally had the chance to get to know myself, something I never had a chance to do. With so many duties and obligations put over my head by the Rakshana I had barely a chance to think of anything else. Everything was pre-calculated, from my lesson plans to my role as protector to Gemma Doyle to my course of action should anything go wrong. My head was a swarm of equations and explanations, with no room for imagination.

So imagine my surprise when I rediscovered a part of me I locked away as a six-year-old. Once my head cleared of the initial misery of being cast from the Rakshana, and then the intense loneliness when Gemma went back to school, I was left with a clean slate. Oddly enough, it turned out I had quite a penchant for drawing. And not so surprisingly, Gemma was my favorite subject to draw.

But frivolities aside, I knew I had an important place in helping Gemma with the Order. We corresponded, though not as often as I would have liked, and she informed me of any significant information regarding the realms. In turn, I wrote her about London with the promise I'd let her know of any news concerning the Rakshana's plans to take the magic. I heard nothing.

Everything was quiet. I should have known better and kept my guard up. But Gemma was home and I was happy for her company again. In hindsight, not much could've been done to prepare me for what happened. Whoever was so quiet those past few months certainly decided to announce their presence with a bang.

On the night of June 4, 1896 I heard screaming.

I was sitting at a table in the tavern I was staying at, drinking coffee and taking in my surroundings when suddenly I heard a woman's shrill screams. Being the youngest and fittest in the tavern, I was the first to dash outside. A lone woman was in hysterics, clutching her tattered gown about her shoulders and cowering against a wall. A metallic scent reached my trained senses and I instinctively looked for its origin. A young boy, around the age of 13, was crumpled in a heap only a few feet from the doorstep. As I neared him cautiously, a wave of nausea overtook me. Through the blood and contorted limbs, I recognized him as the boy that often ran messages from the Doyle household.

People were beginning to emerge from the buildings behind me. I vaguely heard the tavern keeper coax the distressed woman inside for a hot cup of tea. I cocked my head and took in his form. Death had come swiftly in the form of a slit neck, a fate that nearly ended me. Someone called for the constable. I was about to retreat when something caught my eye. A letter, clutched tightly in the boy's stiffening grasp. Without thinking, I quickly wrenched it from him and hid it from sight until I made it safely back to my room.

I removed it from my pocket to study and my stomach gave another unpleasant lurch. The wax seal was that of Gemma's, and her handwriting emerged from beneath a spatter of blood to reveal my name. I sank down onto my bed on shaky knees. I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the parchment emblazoned with her name and family crest. The words were written in haste and sent a chill to my very heart.

_I think someone is trying to kill me._

I was in a fit, torn between acting rashly and acting intelligently. I weighed the possibilities with a shaken mind. Was Gemma really in danger, or was this an elaborate hoax to draw me out of hiding so that the Rakshana had one less thing to worry about? If the latter was the case, then they have surely discovered my Achilles' heel, though I revealed that the moment I saved her from them. My palms sweated and I felt ill, unsure of what to do.

As I paced the room, a knock sounded at the door, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin. The woman who screamed earlier stood in the doorway smiling eerily. Closer inspection revealed, however, that she was not in fact a woman. To make matters worse, the broach on the dress was emblazoned with the sword and the skull.

I had been found.

"Kartik, you sneaky little rat," said the man, a member of the middle ranks. I recognized him as one of Amar's friends. My heart sank. Surely this meant that every member of the Rakshana was aware of my deed and hated me for it, regardless of previous camaraderie. "Soon you and your precious priestess will be together." He drew a pistol from the folds of the skirt. "In Hell, of course."

My panicked brain saw only one opportunity for exit, one I took in haste. I grabbed an iron paperweight from the shelf and flung it as hard as I could across the room. It hit his skull with a satisfying _clunk _and I was free to dash out of the room and into the dark, deserted streets.

I'll never know how my legs carried me to the Doyle's house, but thankfully they did so without giving out. However, when I reached the back of the house I collapsed, exhausted, onto the ground.

"Mr. Kartik?" At the sound of my name, I looked around frantically. It was Emily, the maid, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with an incredulous look on her face. "Gracious me, it is you!"

"Hello," I said weakly, not particularly happy to see her.

"You look terrible! Come inside for a cup of tea!"

"What time is it?" I asked, still panting for breath.

"I don't know exactly, but the entire household is tucked into bed. I was just finishing up my chores. Come in for tea, no one will know."

"Yes, thank you," I said hurriedly. My nerves had calmed a bit. There was no apparent imminent danger for Gemma. The only obstacle then was to get rid of Emily, so that I could find Gemma in peace.

Emily lit a lamp and started boiling water for tea. "Where have you been, Mr. Kartik? You just took off and I – we had no idea what the matter was! Thank you for the book, by the way," she says, blushing. The effect is not as charming as it is on Gemma. "Miss Doyle gave it to me, but she never said -,"

"How is she?" I ask, cutting her off. Emily looks taken aback.

"She's very sick," Emily says. "Can't keep a thing down. Looks like death itself, she does." Her face developed a slight sneer, as if she was glad to report on Gemma's apparently ill appearance. The cattiness of women will never cease to appall me.

Emily continued. "It's really a shame though, that she can't eat."

"Why?" I asked, certain I would get an answer implying that Gemma looked like an underfed dog.

Emily's face grew thoughtful. "Well, Simon Middleton gave me a certain spice that Miss Doyle is fond of. It's from India, he said. He told me to put it on her meals, because she loves it so."

A chill rose up my spine. "A spice you say? What is it? Saffron?"

Emily shrugged. "I'm not sure."

I had forgotten Emily couldn't read. "May I see it?"

She handed me an ordinary looking bottle. I spilled some of the contents onto the table, despite Emily's protests. The yellowish powder smelled like garlic, and was definitely not saffron. It was arsenic. Gemma was being poisoned by her own maid.

"You said Simon Middleton gave you this to put on Miss Doyle's food?" I asked sternly. Emily's eyes grew wide at my tone, but it did not bother me. She had a hand in this, and therefore she was just as guilty as Middleton.

"Y-yes," she stammered. I scooped the powder back into the bottle and threw it out the open window.

"Don't ever touch her food, do you understand?"

"W-whatever is the matter, Mr. Kartik?"

"Goodbye, Emily," I said coldly, walking back out into the yard.

**Yay plot! Don't worry, Kartik's parents were not just thrown into the prologue for nothing. That will happen much later though.**

**Yay birthday tomorrow! Thanks for all the "happy birthdays" and visions of Kartik popping out of a cake! I'm very happy because I get to ride Dix tomorrow! I would have today, but he pulled a shoe, so I had to ride Scout, who is fat and lazy and going to Canada for the summer. I love him and all, but he'll come back and say "So you want me to canter, eh? Fat chance, eh?"**

**You guys rock the casbah! I wish I could send a piece of birthday cake to all of you. But then it'd be stale. So as further thanks, I'll share with you how to get a copy of the teaser book. Which is a real book, released at Book Expo America last weekend by Libba Bray herself. It's the prologue and first 4 chapters of The Sweet Far Thing and it is free. This is what I did to find a copy (it's not sold at places like Borders or Barnes and Noble). **

**Go to Google and type in "independent booksellers" and your zipcode. Call every place that shows up in your area. Booksense dot com has a lot of listings. If you don't have luck, try Ebay in a few weeks. Best of luck to all of you! (If you can't find it, drop me an email and I'll fill you in on what happens.)**


	3. Chapter 2

**This is fun! Change in tense is intentional, just so yew all know.**

A dull throb in my temples rouses me from a fitful sleep. My sheets are damp with sweat, yet I shiver despite the heat radiating off my body. What has happened to me? With each waking moment I feel the life slipping away from me. I feel hollow, empty, and unable to eat or drink without vomiting violently and painfully. What's worse, I do not know why. Is this some terrible side effect of the magic? A curse put on me by Circe? Or perhaps I have submitted to sickness like everyone else. Rather ironic, the High Priestess of the Order being finished off by influenza, or whatever else I have.

I am truly afraid of death, afraid of leaving people behind, and afraid of what I will face as I try to cross over. In some of my more determined moments, I tell myself firmly that I am just sick, that I cannot possibly die now. There is too much to do. Too much I'd leave unfinished. I vaguely recall writing to Kartik, though I admit I may have been a bit overdramatic.

It is influenza, the doctors say. They say bed rest and some hot soup will do the trick, but I cannot seem to keep it down. And rest is a cruel mockery of what I actually get when I close my eyes, which is an unfortunate blur of nightmares and reality. When someone tries to spoon liquid down my throat, all I see is Cecily and Elizabeth at my bedside, laughing at me in their beautiful gowns, telling me to drink it and I'd be cured of my unfortunate "affliction," which I believe means my magic.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of my surroundings. A calm breeze billows the curtains, making them dance. I see Felicity and Ann in the gauzy cotton, twirling in the realms, happy as can be. I close my eyes, taking the vision with me.

"I can't die," I hear myself mumble. "They need me."

"Who needs you?" someone whispers.

"Uh?" I moan, unsure if I'm just imagining things. The mattress moves slightly beneath me and a warm hand rests on my shoulder.

"Gemma?" The hand shakes me gently. "Open your eyes."

I open my eyes and see Kartik, sitting next to me gingerly. I raise a hand to rub at my eyes. He's still there, but I can't tell if I'm dreaming or not. I'd rather not spend time talking to an apparition, as I might end up as one of Tom's charges at Bethlem. That would be quite the scandal.

I lift my arm again and reach for Kartik, letting my hand drop onto his chest. I sit up quickly when I realize he's solid. "Oh hello," I say. "You're real." I fall back to my pillows, too weak to support myself.

He looks at me in a mixture of concern and confusion. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not quite sure. I have influenza, Kartik."

"Influenza," he repeats, sounding as if he doesn't believe me. I'm suddenly aware of how terrible I must look. I shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "Gemma, you wrote me that you think someone is trying to kill you." There is an urgency in his voice that sobers me from my feverish stupor.

"Well," I say quietly. "I am a bit suspicious, for I've never been this sick before, and nothing seems to be working." Kartik looks away sharply. I fear he is cross with me. "But I'm not sure of anything. I'm sorry if I've worried you."

His shoulders slump. "There's something I must discuss with you, but I don't think you're fit to hear it at the moment."

"Have I done something wrong?"

He turns his head slowly to face me. His expression brings an ache to my heart, for I've never seen him so upset. "You've done nothing wrong," he says quietly. "But, I can't, not yet. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Gemma, please. Don't eat anything given to you here."

"Why not?" I ask. His eyes close and a pained expression crosses his face. Realization spreads through my veins, chilling every inch of me. I draw my blankets closer. "Someone is poisoning me," I say flatly. "Who is it?"

Kartik opens his eyes and for a moment I see anger flicker in the coal-black depths. "Emily," he says. "But I don't think she has meant to. Someone else is behind it."

I narrow my eyes at him, trying my best to look menacing. "Who is it?" I repeat.

"Gemma, I don't think you want to know-,"

"Tell me."

"Simon Middleton," he says. He takes in my shocked expression and pity replaces the anger in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Are you certain? What makes you think it was him? He has no reason to want me dead."

"Gemma, I…"

"You must be mistaken. You've always had it out for him," I pull the blankets tightly around me. "You should go."

"Please, just listen to me," he pleads.

"Fine," I say, relenting, for I've never heard him beg before.

"Emily told me Mr. Middleton had given her a spice you were fond of and was instructed by him to put it on all your meals."

"Right then," I say frostily. "The maid's obviously lying. Simon would never do that."

"Gemma, it was arsenic. Emily would never have the means or the knowledge to get it."

He's right. I can sense it. But I don't want to believe it. Why would Simon want to kill me? Tears sting at my eyes and my lower lip trembles.

"I'm so sorry, Gemma," Kartik whispers. "There's more though."

I don't hear him. Why Simon? Because I rejected him? Am I a black mark on his reputation? Is he afraid I'd reveal what he tried to do to me on Christmas? He is the reason I am wasting away, slipping to my death.

"Gemma," Kartik's voice is oddly soothing to me. Simon is dead to me now. I will never praise him in good company again, that is for sure.

"You might as well spill all of the bad news on me now, Kartik," I say shakily. "I hardly imagine I'll ever be up for this again."

"You sent the letter to me. You must have known something was wrong."

"Yes, I was suspicious, but I'd never have thought it was true," I snap.

Kartik lowers his eyes from mine. Wonderful. I am such a beast that even Kartik cannot stand me now. "I am glad you sent it," he says, surprising me. "Or else you might not have known…" he trails off. His eyes return to mine. "However, someone involved was not so lucky."

I frown, confused.

"The boy you sent the letter with, he – was murdered."

"What?!" I sit up again, ignoring my protesting muscles. My heart aches, for it is my fault he is dead.

"Right outside where I was staying. He was killed by the Rakshana," Kartik says softly. I steady myself using his arm. He doesn't seem to mind.

"Why would the Rakshana kill him?" The heat of Kartik's skin beneath his shirt would have brought a blush to my face in any other circumstance. However, I'd be surprised if I had any blood left now.

"I think they are trying to get rid of anyone undermining their power."

"But he had nothing to do with anything!"

"Gemma," he says desperately. "Don't you understand? The Rakshana are watching you! They poisoned you, knowing you would try to contact me, and when you did, they followed your messenger to me."

"You don't mean…"

"Yes," he whispers sadly. "They've found me. I narrowly escaped and I came straight to you."

I fall silent for a moment, taking in his claim. "But if you're right," I say slowly. "Then that would mean Simon is part of the Rakshana."

"So it would seem."

"But what can we do? We need to go somewhere safe!"

Kartik sizes me up. "Are you saying you're comfortable with leaving your family?"

"Everything I touch seems to go to ruin. I don't want anyone else to be put in danger on my behalf."

Kartik gives my hand a small squeeze and beckons for me to lie down again. "Think about it. We can take no action when you're weak like this."

"But who can I trust? If I cannot trust food from my own family…"

"You can trust me. I'll help you get better."

"Okay," I say smiling for the first time in over a week.

"Now sleep," he says. "I will come back tomorrow." He approaches the window.

"Kartik," I say. He turns around. "Be careful, please."

"I'll be fine," he says. "Good night."

I only wish I could believe him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Emily sits at the desk in her cramped room, addressing a letter by the light of a single, burned-down candle.

_Simon –_

_They know._

_- Emily_

**Birthday was pretty fab. Except it was 100 degrees and I fell off Dix twice. Both times were my fault because I kinda let him refuse the fence, but I got dumped onto 3 poles and a flower box twice. Thanks, Dix. Just his way of saying "Happy Effing Birthday, this is what you get for riding me in hellish heat, you pathetic human." Jerkpony.**

**Haha, my sister is buying me another tattoo for my birthday! Must - resist - urge - to - get - Kartik's - name - on - my - bum. **

**My ankles are practically mangled,  
LunaEquus**

**PS Thanks for all the lovely reviews! As you can see, they definitely spur me on to write faster! **


	4. Chapter 3

**You may wonder why I'm updating so fast. Well, it's actually quite fun to write this fic, and once I get started I don't really want to stop. Plus, it hurts to move, so I've just been chilling in bed with my laptop and some Fresh Prince on the telly.**

Over the next few days I played nurse for Gemma. Well, technically speaking, I only brought her food, but it did more for her strength than the combined efforts of her family and employed doctors. Though my actions went unnoticed to those convinced they were helping her, Gemma's gratitude alone was enough for me. It particularly tickled me to see her green eyes light up when I crawled in through her window, almost as if she had been waiting all day and night for me.

However, I only saw her once a day, in the earliest hours of the morning, figuring that was the safest time to visit her. The rest of my days were filled with trying to make sense of our current predicament. If say Gemma did want to leave, where could I take her that we'd both be safe? Traveling by ship or train was out of the question, for the Rakshana could easily trap us there. I knew from previous experience that the Rakshana had eyes everywhere; no place was too far for their reach. I knew I needed to find a place they wouldn't think to look.

But where? There was no place I could think of, and time was running out. One nagging thought kept returning to my head, to go see my mentor, the man that practically raised me until I was 17. He was Rakshana, but I couldn't help but feel that he would help me. After all, I was like a son to him. The morning the roses returned to Gemma's cheeks, I vowed to find him and ask for one last point in the right direction.

It was not very challenging to find him. I only had to look in one place, so I took a day trip to the Ascot Racecourse in Berkshire. Betting on horses was always his weakness, and he took me there a few times when I was 11, which I believe sparked my fondness for the animals.

Sure enough, I could see the familiar trilby hat on his balding head a few paces away. I watched him watch the race with anxious eyes. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rail in front of him, but his efforts did not spur his pick to run any faster. Before the horses even crossed the wire, he tore up his betting card and threw the pieces to the ground.

"I see your luck hasn't changed, old man," I said boldly.

He jumped as if he had seen a ghost. "What are you doin' here? You know everyone's lookin' to turn yeh in! Haven't I taught you a thing or two about subtlety?" The anger in his voice was betrayed by the flicker of relief on his face. I took that as a good sign.

"I need your help," I said.

"You'll need more than help, I can tell yeh that. There's a hefty price on that dense head o' yours."

"And yet here I am, my head fully attached. I must be pretty lucky or something," I teased, grinning widely.

"Yeah well, not all of us are lucky," he said, gesturing to the track. "You must have a guardian angel lookin' out for yeh."

"I do," I said. "And I look out for her."

"So what is it then, the witch used her magic to get you on her side?"

I let the insult to Gemma slide. "It was my own choice."

He settled his watery blue eyes on me. "Why on earth would you choose her over us, boy?"

"It was…a moment of self clarification," I said breezily. "I realized I had other plans I wished to fulfill in life."

He scowled at me. "How many times have I told yeh to think with your head and not with your todger?"

I coughed, feeling the color rise in my cheeks. "That was not the motive behind my actions, I assure you, old man. But putting the past aside, I could do with some help from you."

He looked around warily. "You know I'm not supposed to help you," he said sternly. "This means trouble for me too."

"I'm aware of that, but I figured you might be of some assistance, considering our past."

He sighed and removed his hat. "What do yeh want to know?"

"I need a place to stay. Somewhere the priestess and I can be safe."

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you something like that?" He jammed his hat back onto his head angrily.

"Because you were always like a father to me," I replied quietly.

He fell silent and appeared to consider my plea for help. "There is one place you could go," he said after a few moments. "But I'm not so certain I should tell you. You see, they would have my head for this."

I didn't reply. Instead I decided to see if a trip down memory lane would sway him. "Do you remember when you used to take me here? You'd have me sneak into the stables to listen to what people were saying about the horses, which looked good and bad, that sort of thing. Then you would bet on the best horses and we'd always wind up winning."

He chuckled. "You made me a lot of money back then, boy."

"Well then," I said. "Perhaps you could just do me this one favor? For all the times I helped you?"

He clapped a hand on my back. "You're a manipulative little twit, do you know that? Alright, come 'ere." He beckoned for me to lean in. He pulled a key from his twill jacket and placed it in my palm. "Go here, and you will be safe."

I looked at him, puzzled. "Go where? This is just a key. How will I know where it leads to?"

He smiled and tapped his temple. "Use your wit, boy, you'll find the way." He doffed his hat to me and began to walk away. "Oh, and one last thing, my boy. The library might be of particular interest to you and the witch."

"Thank you," I said softly, staring at the key in my hand. Use my wits? Was I supposed to find the exact make of the lock the key opens and narrow down my search from there? What on earth was he talking about? Feeling slightly more baffled then before, I made my way back to London.

The night had already fallen when I finally returned to the city, but I was too jittery to sleep. I kept the key safely in my pocket, refusing to look at it, for it would only confuse me further. I vowed to give it to Gemma on my next visit in the hopes that she would once again prove cleverer than I.

By the time four in the morning rolled around, I was so excited to share the key with her that I regret to say I forgot to bring food for her. I cursed myself over and over, but I was so close to the house that I figured I'd pop in and apologize and go back out for food. However, I quickly realized it would not be necessary.

Ever the incomprehensible one, Gemma sat on a suitcase in her backyard fully dressed with a determined look on her face. She rose slowly when she saw me. The transformation of her appearance since the previous day was startling, and I felt a pang of longing in my heart. I was surprised that she decided to leave her family, but the look on her face told me not to ask questions.

"Shall we?" I asked, taking her suitcase.

"Where will we go?" she whispered.

"An old friend of mine gave me a key. We only need to find where it leads."

"Lovely. Well, we can ponder that later. Can we get some breakfast? I'm famished," she said, rubbing at her stomach.

I grinned. "Feeling better, are we?"

She smiled back, warming me in the early morning chill. "I certainly am."

* * *

A few hours later, Simon Middleton was sitting at his desk, reading the newspaper, when a knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he said, folding up the paper neatly. A wolfish smile formed on his face when Emily walked in. Her expression was grim.

"They've left," she said. The corners of her mouth turned down sadly, but Simon thought she was beautiful all the same.

"Lock the door," he said, leaning back in his chair. She did as instructed and he beckoned her to him. She approached him and settled herself onto his lap. He pulled her close and kissed her neck, breathing in the scent of freshly baked scones. "Where did they go, Emily?" he murmured, resting his hands on her breasts.

She didn't particularly have any feelings for Simon, but she let him have his way with her, as per their agreement. She'd do anything to have the heart wrenchingly handsome coachman to herself. "All he said was that he had a key that an old friend gave him. A key to a place where they could be safe, but even they don't know where it is yet."

"Hmm." Simon let his hands wander further on the maid's body. "I'll make some inquiries. If all goes well, we may both get what we want sooner than we thought." He kissed her hard and bent her over his desk, feeling no remorse for the girl when he used her rougher than usual.

'Soon I'll have Gemma to submit to my every whim,' he thought, the notion of making the feisty redhead beg for mercy sending him to his climax.

**Ooh, shocking! Even I didn't see that one coming. I swear, my stories write themselves.**

**Review lots so I don't feel so weird for updating quickly! And if anyone is wondering (and I assure myself they are not, but whatevs), I have been writing this fic under the influence. Yes. Under the influence of Guitar Hero music! Bwahaha! I am so obsessed with the game that I downloaded a bunch of songs and listen to them while writing. So naturally I can't get the vision of Gem and Kartik in all of their Victorian glory, playing "music" on plastic guitars. I imagine Gemma would be quite frazzled and never get the hang of it, but Kartik would be insta-rockstar! Forget about oiling those curls into obedience, Kartik, spike 'em up baby!**

**My name is LunaEquus and I have been a Guitar Heroholic for 2 months now.**

**PS Carry On My Wayward Son is SUCH a Kartik song. Sort of.  
**


	5. Chapter 4

**I'm so excited - there's actually a plot! -pats self on back-**

"So, where is this key you mentioned?" I ask before spooning some porridge into my mouth. Kartik sits across from me at the table we're sharing at a small coffeehouse. He leans back to access his pocket and places the key on the weathered surface of the table.

"He told me to use my wits to find the place we're supposed to stay, but I'm unsure of where to start," Kartik says looking slightly harassed. He prods the sausage on his plate with a disinterested expression. I stir my tea and look at the key. It's a rather ordinary looking skeleton key, made of brass.

I look back up at Kartik, who's resting his chin on his hand, fighting to stay awake.

"I do hope you didn't stay awake all night thinking about this key, Kartik," I say, picking it up.

"Mmm," he mumbles, letting his eyes close. I fight a smile and inspect the key closely, turning it over in my hand. Something engraved in the brass catches my eye. I hold it up to the light streaming in through the window and see a tiny address scrawled on the shaft.

"Kartik!" I exclaim. "I've figured it out." He doesn't respond. I take my spoon and tap it against the glass in front of his face. His head snaps up.

"What? So sorry, I must have dozed off. What is it?" He rubs his eyes in an endearing way.

"I've found where we need to go," I say. He gives me a look of astonishment.

"How?"

I lean over and run my thumbnail under the engraving. "It's written there on the key."

"Hah! Well the old man could have told me that! I'd have never looked there. Clever, Gemma," he says with a broad smile, looking very much awake now. I feel a blush rise in my cheeks.

"Do you know where Marylebone Road is?" I ask.

"Yes, it's adjacent to Baker Street."

My stomach turns unpleasantly as I recall Baker Street and the events that happened there. I haven't heard from Miss Moore, no – Circe since I left her at the bottom of the well. I vaguely wonder if that will ever change.

"Gemma?" Kartik's voice rouses me from my reverie. "Is everything alright?"

"It's nothing," I say brightly. "I'm fine. Shall we go find this place?"

He runs a weary hand through his dark hair. "I suppose so," he says. He stands and places a few shillings on the table.

We emerge into the bright sunlight and I look to Kartik for further direction. "Shall we walk or take a cab?" I ask.

"Cab," he says quickly. "We don't want to draw any attention to ourselves."

He hails a cab quite easily and helps me into the carriage. I rather think he is just too tired to walk.

"Marylebone Road, please," Kartik tells the driver before settling into his seat.

"I wonder what we'll find there," I muse.

"He mentioned a library," Kartik says.

"Who is this man?" I ask, curious of who Kartik received the key from.

"He was my mentor, so to speak. He taught me a lot, mainly how to gamble and steal, but -," Kartik takes note of my expression. "What's the matter?"

"You gamble too?"

"Sure," he says nonchalantly. "I'll teach you how to count cards sometime."

"I'd like that," I say with a smile. "You never fail to surprise me, Kartik."

He raises his eyebrows with a devious look. "Neither do you." I blush and look away. The carriage rattles to a stop.

"Marylebone Road," the driver calls. He opens the door and helps me down. Kartik follows with my suitcase. "And where are you two off to on such a fine day?" the driver asks.

"Madame Tussauds," Kartik says before I can even think of a lie. "My fiancée wishes to see the Chamber of Horrors, though I cannot imagine why."

"Oh I do so love the macabre, you see," I say as sweetly as possible to the baffled driver.

"Right, well on your way then," he says before stepping up to his perch and driving away.

"What is the Chamber of Horrors?" I ask, trying to ignore the part where Kartik referred to me as his fiancée.

"The part of the exhibit that has the wax figures of victims and criminals. Quite popular, really. Now what is the number we are looking for?"

I remove the key from my handbag and examine it again. "185," I say.

"Well then," Kartik says, holding out his arm. "I suppose we should pretend to be a couple." My face erupts into a deep flush.

"Yes, I suppose so," I say, taking it, willing myself to remain calm. We walk in silence for a few moments. Swarms of people pass us, going to work and such. "Kartik, aren't you a bit…wary that this place we're supposed to be safe at is on such a popular street?"

He doesn't respond. I look at him and see the worry etched onto his face. We pass numerous shops and eateries and the aforementioned Madame Tussauds, an eerie likeness of the artist herself leering at us from the front window. I wonder for a moment what it would be like to be such an artist, with no worries other than the temperature of your exhibit and the price of fake hair.

"You know, I've heard she creates wigs for her sculptures out of the hair of the recently deceased," Kartik says as if reading my mind.

"How awful," I say with a shudder. "Imagine part of you left behind when you die. I should think I'd want to leave this earth fully intact."

Kartik laughs. "I don't think you'd have much of a say in the matter. You'd be dead."

"Well aren't you the optimist," I say.

"The glass is half _there_, that's what I always say," he says haughtily. He catches my eye and we both burst out laughing, drawing stares from some people around us. I believe the stares are more at our race difference rather than our lack of decorum. I fight the odd urge to stick my tongue out at them and try to keep my face straight.

We meander into the residential area of the street, and turn our attentions to reading the building numbers.

"Oh hold on," Kartik says, frowning. "There are 183 and 187, but no 185." My stomach drops.

"It's missing?" I ask, immediately feeling stupid. Kartik releases my arm and walks to the small alley in between the two buildings.

I can see his face light up from where I stand a few feet away. "Gemma, come and have a look at this," he says.

"What is it?" I stop by his side and look down the alley. A rather large house stands, nearly hidden in ivy. "185," I murmur, walking decisively towards it. Kartik catches up to me. I pull the key out, readying myself to open the door.

"There's no door," Kartik says.

"Don't be mad," I say, shaking my head. "Of course there's a door." I mount the stairs and stop in my tracks. There is nothing but crumbling brick where a door should be. I look down the stairs to Kartik, who leans against the handrail.

"There's no door," he repeats.

"Fine," I say, stepping down in a huff. "Then what good is a key?"

He rolls his eyes. "Gemma, it's a large house. There's bound to be more than one entrance."

I gesture for him to lead the way. "After you, monsieur." He hesitates a moment, his eyes never leaving me. I cannot read his expression, and truthfully, I'm too frustrated to care.

I follow him through a narrow path under a densely planted pergola, sunlight straining to touch us through the tiny spaces between the ivy leaves. Kartik stops suddenly and turns toward me so that I bump into him. There is a brief moment that I'm held in a trance against him, the warmth of him inviting in the damp cool of the passage. I slowly raise my eyes to his, and for a moment I can sense something between us, a spark, a flame, but all too soon it is gone. Kartik shakes his head slightly as if trying to come to his senses.

"Why have we stopped?" I ask, my voice sounding strange to me. Kartik gives me a wicked grin.

"Perhaps you'd rather lead the way?" he asks, feigning innocence.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," I say, pushing past him, our chests brushing briefly in the cramped passage. I take a determined step forward…and am met face to face with a rather large spider. I jump back into Kartik with a shriek. His chest reverberates with laughter. "It's not funny," I mumble, elbowing him in the stomach.

"So trackers and evil witches you can handle, but a mere spider is enough to finish off the Great Gemma Doyle?" he teases, stepping in front of me again.

I glower at him and watch as he carefully picks the spider up by one of its hairy legs and places it in a less offending spot. I shudder. "I do hope you'll wash your hands, Kartik."

"Never," he says lightly. The passageway opens up into a small enclosed yard. "Talk about keeping the neighbors out," he murmurs, looking around at the tall, weeded fences. "Ah!" he exclaims, pointing to a niche in the wall. "Our entrance."

I look at the cramped stairs leading down to a small door and shudder. It's positively filthy. "After you, madam," Kartik says grandly. I don't move. He sighs and holds out his hand. I give him the key and he leads the way into the basement of the house. With one last look into the deserted yard, I follow him inside, the door swinging solidly back into place behind me and cutting off our only source of light.

"Kartik?" I whisper, willing my eyes to adjust. The darkness closes in on me and I feel suffocated.

"Just a moment, Gemma, I've found a lantern." His voice sounds rather far off; I stand still in my tracks, certain that anything in my vicinity will surely finish me off should I move. On the other end of the room Kartik lights the lantern, filling the basement with a rosy glow. He approaches me with an unreadable smile.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he says. "Is Miss Doyle afraid of the dark?"

I'm in no humor to be laughed at. Without a word, I fold my arms over my chest and walk towards the door leading upstairs. Something in my path makes me stumble. I look down and shriek for the second time today. Kartik erupts into laughter again.

"How charming," he says, kicking the dead mouse out of my path. I am unsure if he is referring to me or the rodent, but his tone makes my blood boil all the same. "Well you're unusually quiet," he says.

"And you're not so unusually irritating," I grumble. By the light of lantern I can see a cloud pass over his face.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was only trying to lighten the situation." He turns away with a dejected look on his face and I cannot help but hate myself for bringing him down. He pushes the door open and more light spills into the basement. "Coming?" he asks softly, holding the door open for me.

I step lightly past him into a kitchen with an apologetic smile. He closes the door and stands behind me, observing our surroundings over my shoulder. I am suddenly hit with a wave of longing as the scent of him overpowers my senses. The urge to tear off all my clothes and ravish him registers strongly in my brain. And now we're alone, in a place barely anyone knows exists. For the first time all morning, I wonder what in God's name I had just gotten myself into.

**Hot sex.**

**No, not really. Sorry Gemma, none of that nonsense for you...yet? Rest assured, this will not turn into an M-rated fic. Because the one I wrote didn't get many hits, and because writing smut isn't really my thing.**

**Oh, and things will get better soon. I have a great deal planned out in my head and I positively cannot wait to write it!**

**I've nothing really clever to say,  
LunaEquus**

**(PS. Hand Banana. If you understand that, let me know and you will get major props!)  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**I wonder when Kartik will start speaking in the present. Hmm...**

After noticing Gemma's impatience with my humor, I vowed to keep myself more in check. This entire experience proved to be an excellent exercise on my self control, for it was I and Gemma, alone, in a house, unsupervised. I would not go as far to say I was bursting at the seams to get to her, but I will confess there were often times I had to force myself to think of less pleasant situations, like for example, the present danger our lives were in. That sobered me instantly from romantic thoughts; much to the effect a bucket of ice water does to the overexcited stallion straining to cover the mare in heat.

It was a magnificent house, the sort of house many would dream to raise their family in, complete with polished mahogany and upholstery of the finest brocade. Even Gemma was awestruck by the extravagance, but she eyed the house with suspicion. She ran a finger over the marble mantle of the fireplace and held it up to me.

"Not a trace of dust," she said. "People have been living here."

It hadn't occurred to me that we may have broken in to a private residence, or that perhaps my mentor may have led me astray. I searched the house for any sign of inhabitance with Gemma on my heels, never farther than a few paces behind.

"You don't have to follow me everywhere, you know," I said, though I wasn't bothered that she was. She looked flustered.

"Yes, well, if anyone comes home, I don't want to be caught alone," she said, her face turning that familiar shade of pink that seems to always grace her cheeks when I am near. "Plus, I want to see the rest of the house."

So we explored the many rooms and looked for evidence that someone owned the house. Though it was spotless, it didn't appear that anyone was living there, a definite conundrum. Something was vaguely familiar about the place; I knew of its existence, though I had never been there. I couldn't figure out why I knew of it, or what it was, but the sensation that I had itched at me.

After we determined we were indeed the only inhabitants, Gemma relaxed enough to venture off on her own. That left me to explore less hospitable places, such as the attic, an eerie place, though her absence was distracting. I am sorry to say that I wanted her near, so badly in fact that I had the urge to abandon my investigation of the curious things the attic held, and I was never one to be sidetracked easily.

I stubbornly refused to leave the attic and submit to such childish whims. Instead, I forced myself to stay an hour, despite my growing unease in the room. This was a room where bad things happened, I thought to myself. The sort of place where you felt someone was watching, the sort of place where things would move on their own, just a bit, to catch your fear and attention. Haunted, if you will. There was something about the way the curtains moved slightly in the still air that caused the hair on the back of my neck to prickle.

My eyes took in every inch of the room, recording all of the odds and ends thrown up here, discarded and forgotten. There was a large wooden chest studded with brass that held a dress sleeve trapped between the lid and bottom. A bookshelf filled with an odd arrangement of toys, books, and other trinkets. A music box. A model ship. A porcelain doll slumped against a floating shelf, her face staring into her skirts.

"Where have you been?" Gemma's sudden presence startled me.

"Oh, it's just you," I said, relieved, my hand moving to my heart as if to settle its frantic beating. "I've been up here."

She walked around and I studied her closely to see any indications of fear or unease like I had felt. "How pretty," she said, delicately touching the skirt of the porcelain doll. Her slim finger took in the curve of the doll's cheek. I frowned. Something wasn't right. That doll had been facing down, but there she was, staring straight at me. The face looked almost familiar, but the effect was not welcome. I shivered involuntarily.

"Gemma, something is strange about this room. Do you feel it?"

She gave me an odd look. "Yes, I feel…comforted here. It's calming. Is that what you mean?"

I shook my head, but her attention was elsewhere. She picked up a gilded hand mirror and studied her reflection. She gasped.

"What? What is it?" I asked nervously.

"My mother had a mirror just like this," she murmured. Her green eyes landed on the wooden chest. She placed the mirror back and opened the chest gingerly. I glanced back at the doll. It was as it had been before, staring into its skirts. Perhaps it was just my anxiety that had me thinking it moved.

"Beautiful," Gemma said. She held up a dress of white silk that glistened like fresh snow.

"Try it on," I suggested, for it would suit her beautifully.

"Oh no," she sputtered, her face reddening. "It's far too elegant for me."

"I don't think so," I said honestly. She would look the very picture of elegance, especially with her brilliant red curls shining against the silk bodice. She returned the dress to the chest.

"It probably wouldn't fit anyway," she said softly, walking to the door with one last look of longing at the chest. I shook my head, wondering why women always got themselves so worked up over nothing.

"Kartik…" I heard my name called, soft as a whisper, from somewhere behind me. I looked, but no one was there, and Gemma was already making her way downstairs. I felt that odd feeling again, like someone was watching me. My eyes returned to the doll. It was staring at me again, through creepy violet glass eyes. Fear shot through my veins, but I couldn't turn away. I was frozen, as if a spell was help over me.

"Kartik!" Gemma called up the stairs, breaking my trance. "Hurry up, will you?" I raced for the door, but couldn't resist one more look, just to prove my eyes weren't failing me. The doll's painted lips curled into an evil smile. I fought the urge to smash its china face into the wall and ran down the stairs, where I promptly crashed into Gemma.

"Ow!" she yelped as she was knocked into the wall.

"Sorry!" I said quickly, leaning onto the railing to steady myself. Gemma gave me a curious look as she rubbed at the back of her head.

"What's the matter, Kartik? You're awfully jumpy."

I made the quick decision to lie and save face rather than tell her the truth. "It's nothing. Let's have a seat, shall we?" I ushered her into the parlor before she could protest.

"The house is lovely," Gemma said, sinking into a plush divan. "This will surely be an interesting experience. I suppose I should learn how to cook now, shouldn't I?" She gave me a rather flirtatious look that made me forget completely about the doll incident. I smiled at the prospect of watching her attempt to prepare food.

"Why don't you leave the cooking to me," I suggested. "I already know how to, and I don't suppose eating the burnt remains of your experiments will be very appetizing."

She pretended to be wounded, but then her face lit up. "I've just remembered something! I brought some food from home."

I sat up straighter, for I hadn't eaten much at breakfast. "Have you? What did you bring?" She opened her suitcase and brought out a small box, which she handed to me. I opened it quickly and relieved it of its contents.

"Gemma," I said, thoroughly disappointed. "You said you packed food."

"I did."

"There are two apples and a jar of clotted cream."

She flushed. "I didn't have much time to pack, now did I?" she said defensively. I sighed.

"I suppose we'll have to buy food," I said.

"But we can't risk being seen around here, can we?"

"No, we can't. I'll go," I said after a moment's silence. "You stay here and enjoy yourself." So I took a quick and uneventful trip to the market and purchased enough food to last a few days. We wouldn't eat like kings, but at least we'd survive.

I returned to find Gemma clutching a fire poker like a cricket bat. She looked at me with wild eyes in such a way I wasn't quite sure how to respond.

"What on earth is the matter?" I asked. She pointed to the pantry door.

"There's something in there," she whispered. I listened, and heard a faint rustling. "I swear to you, if it's a rat…" I held up a hand to silence her and motioned for her to give me the poker.

"I'll take care of it," I said. She cringed and skittered into the next room. I shook my head in ridicule. The girl has faced monsters and is terrified of mere household pests? I opened the door and was greeted by soft mewing. "Gemma, come here," I called.

"No, I don't think I will thanks."

"There are no rats, trust me."

"I'm fine just here, Kartik." She poked her head around the door cautiously.

"You're being childish, Gemma. Come look."

She stepped into the pantry tentatively and peered over my shoulder, using me as a shield. "Ohh," she breathed, sending pleasant chills up my spine. "Aren't they precious?"

"Seems we aren't alone after all," I said, smiling as she fell to her knees to pet the tiny kittens. "I wonder how they got in here," I mused, hoping their entrance wasn't big enough to allow a person through. One of the kittens meandered away from the others and pounced on my shoe, which I had been idly tapping on the floor.

Gemma smiled sweetly. "I think that one likes you, Kartik," she said, stroking the mother cat's tawny back.

"Perhaps," I said, picking the cat up. It was black with white socks and lamp-like eyes. "Do you like me?" I asked it. It swatted my nose playfully. I chuckled and placed it on Gemma's lap. She gave me an amused look.

"What?" I asked while sitting down next to her.

"I never pictured you to be the kitten-loving type."

I stroked the kitten in her lap, daring myself to let my fingers graze the fabric of her dress. I looked into her bemused face, taking in every fading freckle. She was very close. If I wanted to, I could just lean in a bit and…No. I've already tried that. Unsuccessfully. "There's a difference between loving and tolerating, Gemma," I said. She raised her eyebrows.

"Do you tolerate me?" She looked as if she couldn't believe her own boldness. I fought a giddy smile.

"I enjoy your company, Gemma," I replied, thinking it the safest answer. She looked relieved, though her eyes betrayed something else. Disappointment. That intrigued me. "Gemma," I murmured. She turned her face to mine, her eyes holding that same mixture of expectancy and dread that they held last Christmas morning. I lost my nerve. "What do you suppose we should do with our new housemates?"

She exhaled slowly. "Well we can't kick them out, can we? They were here first after all."

I stood up and offered a hand to Gemma. She placed the kitten on the floor near its siblings and let me help her to her feet. I left the door to the pantry open a bit, hoping the cats would feel free to wander, but not free enough to treat the house as a litter box.

"I went back up to the attic while you were out, Kartik," Gemma said from the parlor.

"Did you?" I asked, walking into the room. The porcelain doll was sitting on the mantle, wearing its eerie little smile. "What's that doing down here?" I asked frantically, my heartbeat quickening.

"Hmm?" Gemma picked up the doll. "This? I brought her down. I thought it'd be a shame for such a pretty doll to go unnoticed."

"I don't like it," I blurted out. Gemma frowned.

"You don't? When I was a child, I always wanted a doll like this one. My mother wouldn't let me have one because she was certain I would misplace it or break it." She smoothed down the doll's black hair. "My parents gave me a rag doll instead figuring it was near impossible to break."

"And what happened to it?"

Gemma gave me a naughty smile. "I lost it."

I laughed. "Of course you did." She replaced the doll on the mantle.

"Besides," she said softly. "She sort of reminds me of Pippa."

My stomach dropped as I looked at the doll. It certainly did resemble Gemma's friend, the one currently trapped in the realms, fully corrupted. Perhaps that was the source of my unease? Was there any way Miss Cross could have possessed the doll?

"Gemma, you bound the magic to yourself, correct?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"Good," I mumbled.

* * *

A few miles away, Thomas Doyle was in a panic looking for his missing sister. "Where has she run off to? Stupid girl!" he muttered aloud, though at heart he feared for the worse. _Who would kidnap a sick girl? Is she in trouble? Has she been compromised? _He had yet to inform his grandmother, and his father was safe and oblivious, locked away in a sanitarium.

He fell into his desk chair and rubbed his face miserably. _She was so ill. I do hope she's alright._ Emily slipped quietly into the room with his tea, but Tom was so upset, he hardly even noticed she was late, or that the water was cold. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and picked up the daily paper to skim the headlines for mentions of murderers or kidnappers.

_A murder in East London last night. Hardly a surprise. _Tom threw down the paper in disgust. _How can they write about those riffraff, while my sister is missing?_ A corner of parchment peeked out from underneath the tea tray. He grabbed it and tore open the seal.

_Dearest Tom,_

_By now I suppose you realize that I am not where I should be. As ridiculous as this may sound, I am safe and have left on my own accord. Do not worry about me, for neither my life nor my reputation is at risk. I do not know when I will return, but be rest assured that I will arrive whole and intact when I do. Please inform Grandmama that I shall mind my manners and my posture and that I will not cause a scandal as long as the knowledge of my absence does not pass the walls of our house. Do not tell Father. I shall hopefully be back before he realizes I am missing._

_Please Tom, I know this sounds absurd, but you are my brother and I know you will not fail me, despite the fact that you are, at times, an idiot. I am in safe hands and you should not worry for me, though I know you will._

_Love,_

_Gemma_

**Everything will fall into place eventually. I PROMISE. Aww, poor Kartik! Dolls are scary! And Gemma is oblivious...not for long!**

**Yay birthday party on Saturday! I want either Kartik to pop out of my My Little Pony cake, or to show up at my doorstep dressed as a fireman.**

**Me: Is there a problem, Mr. SexyFireman? **

**K: I hear there's a fire...IN MY PANTS! **

**And then he rips off his clothes and dances around and I (and I alone) stuff $20 bills in his banana hammock.**

**Oh gross. I said banana hammock. SPEAKING of bananas...**

**No one got "hand banana". That saddened me. It was from an episode of Aqua Teen Hunger Force when they made a dog and it wound up looking like Shake's hand, so Meatwad named in Hand Banana.**

**I watch A Haunting and Ghost Hunters too much,  
LunaEquus**

**Seriously, those shows freak me out. Too bad I love them!**_  
_


	7. Chapter 6

**Kinda long...ish? **

"I rather think that kitten is besotted with you, Kartik," I say as I watch Kartik trip to avoid stepping on the little black cat. It has been following him around all afternoon, but I've yet to see his patience wane.

"Well it better be a female then," he says. "Can't you entertain it for awhile, Gemma? I don't want to step on it."

I sit on the Oriental rug and tap my fingernails on the hardwood floor. "Come here, little kitty," I coo. It pounces on my hand and continues to treat my thumb as a teething ring. I try to pet its sweet little head, but it just bites those fingers too. "It doesn't like me," I say, trying to pull my hand away. "Ow!"

Kartik sighs and takes a position lying on his stomach on the floor. He reaches out his arm. "Here, monster cat, bite me if you must." The cat makes a beeline for Kartik, but doesn't bite him. Instead it allows Kartik to pet it, purring like a hive of bees as he does so. I feel a tinge of jealousy, but I understand the kitten's affection. I, too, would probably purr if Kartik treated me with such affection.

I pull my knees to my chest and clasp my hands around them. Kartik rests his head on his forearms and lets the kitten crawl on his back. He sighs again.

"Kartik, you should take a nap if you're so tired," I suggest. "In a bed that is, not on the floor."

"I've gone nights without sleeping before," he mumbles, turning to face me. He looks at me through a curtain of black hair that has fallen over his eyes and smiles. "I'm still rather shocked that you beat me at poker."

I blushed. "You let me win."

"Now why would I do something like that?" he asks innocently.

"I don't know…perhaps some idea of chivalry? A true gentleman always lets the lady win, of course," I joke. He grins.

"Is that so? Would that make me a true gentleman then?"

"Yes."

He feigns surprise, though I rather think it is partly in earnest. "Would a true gentleman kidnap a lady and bring her to a house no one knows about?" he asks softly.

I don't know quite what to say to this. He looks at me with undivided attention, quite a feat considering he has a kitten balancing precariously on his head.

"Considering the circumstances, yes," I say. "And don't be silly, you didn't kidnap me. I wanted to come here."

"Of course," he murmurs. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel naked, and his question reminds me again of the situation we're both in. We may be friends, but we are most certainly a man and a woman, and I don't know Kartik _really._ Who knows what he might try? I should be alarmed, but I'm not. The notion of what he has the power to do rather thrills me. And then of course, I am once against slapped with the present. I am a young, recently débuted girl, living with a man that is not her husband, brother, uncle, or cousin.

But it's only Kartik. Only Kartik. Ridiculous. What scares me more – the fact that he might try something or the fact that I'll certainly enjoy it? He has the power to make me forget my bearings. To make me want to give up my place in society for a taste of his lips, for the heat of his body pressed against mine. No, it's not Kartik at fault, it's me. If we were to be caught together, he is the one who would suffer, while I was the one that gave in. My face burns with the thought of it.

"Well," I say a bit too loudly. "What shall we do now?" The afternoon has so far had the air of a play date; we ate lunch and played cards, but now there is nothing lighthearted to do to pass the time and I fear our conversation will turn to the inevitable topic of duty.

Kartik's eyes rest on the corner of carpet near my left foot. "We searched the whole house."

"Yes, we did."

"He mentioned a library." He lifts his head, causing the kitten to tumble onto his back. "You haven't seen it, have you?"

I nod. "It's on the third floor. I thought I'd wait for you before I went snooping."

He shrugs the cat off his back and stands. "Well let's go snooping then."

I stand and fix my skirts. The cat mews pathetically at Kartik. "You can't come," he says.

"It's lonely," I say.

"It has five little siblings and a mother to play with."

"It can't bear the thought of spending time without its beloved." Kartik throws me a disdainful look.

"It's a cat."

"Yes, but it has feelings too," I insist, laughing. Kartik mounts the stairs two at a time. The kitten's mewing increases in volume. "Kartik, wait!" I call after him. "Your paramour is pining for you!" He doesn't respond. I pick up the kitten and stroke it gently. "There, there, I'll take you to him, don't worry," I whisper, feeling slightly ridiculous for talking to a cat. I feel bad just leaving it though, so I turn to the stairs.

"Oh!" I say aloud. The porcelain doll I had brought down from the attic is perched precariously on the railing. I stare at it, confused. I thought I had left it on the mantle. Perhaps Kartik moved it? The kitten claws at my dress, scrambling to get closer to me. The doll's face is expressionless, but something about it raises a panic in my veins. "Kartik?!" I screech, running as fast as I can up the stairs.

"Gemma?" Kartik meets me at the top of the stairs. "What's the matter?"

I point down the stairs. "The doll," I begin, trying to find the right words so I don't come off as mad. "The doll, it –," I stop. It's no longer on the railing. I take a few steps down the stairs and peer into the parlor. It's sitting on the mantle where I had left it.

Kartik gives me a worried look. "I – it's nothing," I say, trying to pull the kitten's claws from my dress. "I'm just a bit spooked." Kartik looks as if he's about to say something, but he shakes his head.

"Here, let me help you," he says, disentangling the kitten from me. His hand accidentally brushes against my breast and he pulls away as if burned. For an uncomfortable moment, neither of us moves, but then Kartik gestures down the hall. "Library?" he asks, his voice sounding slightly choked.

"Yes, of course," I reply, setting the cat on the floor and following Kartik into the library. It's a handsomely decorated room, similar to the rest of the house, but far surpassing on a scale of grandeur. The walls are lined with densely packed shelves and gilded wall sconces. The floor is dotted with a few circular tables and leather upholstered chairs, and there is even a marble globe mounted in a mahogany stand in the corner.

"Wow," Kartik breathes, his eyes fixed on the baroque ceiling. His long fingers trail across the spines of a few books on one of the shelves. He stops and stands still. "Gemma!" he says excitedly. "Come and have a look at this!"

I hurry over to the shelf and read the title of the book he has pulled out. "_The Sword and the Skull: Interpreting the History and Meaning behind the Emblems of the Rakshana_," I say aloud. I look at Kartik in awe. He laughs.

"I knew I've heard of this place before, and now I'm certain of it," he exclaims. "This is the so-called 'Hall of Records' kept by the British branch of the Rakshana. This is where every book, file, and art piece in Britain concerning the Rakshana or the Order is kept."

"It doesn't look much like a Hall of Records," I say.

"Well, the location of the true Hall of Records is kept secret. Rumor has it that it is somewhere in India, probably buried among the temple in which the ancient brotherhood first gathered. However, all over the world there are places like these, small libraries containing copied documents and such, for convenience."

"But doesn't that mean that anyone can just walk in here? How can we be safe?" I ask, skimming the titles of other books.

"It's not open to just anyone, Gemma. In order to have access to this library, one must apply for permission. There's a lot of paperwork involved actually." He frowns. "I wonder how he got a key…"

"Perhaps they granted him permission?"

Kartik's expression is a bit grim. "Doubt it. He's not among the more respected members; he was de-ranked, actually, kicked down the ladder, so to speak."

I'm curious to know how the Rakshana works, but I don't want to intrude. Kartik catches sight of my expression and explains.

"He got into a lot of trouble with a brothel a few years back. He certainly took advantage of their services, but never paid for any of it. Of course the Rakshana had to bail him out of the whole situation, and he was never forgiven."

"And this man was your mentor?" I say, horrified. Kartik gives me a sad smile.

"He is a good man, Gemma. He made a few mistakes, that's all. Everyone makes mistakes," he says softly.

"Do you feel as if you made a mistake by betraying the Rakshana?" I ask just as quietly. My heart thumps loudly in my chest. For a moment Kartik is quiet and I suddenly feel as if I cannot breathe. But then his face changes.

"No," he says with a true smile. "Not at all."

I exhale, relieved. Kartik gives me a wicked smile. "Since we're here, where only the "respected" members can be, let's take advantage of it."

"What do you mean?"

He kicks over a chair. "We can redecorate, for one."

"And not put books back where they're supposed to be!" I say gleefully.

He opens the globe to reveal a hidden bar. "Drink their liquor!"

"Oh dear," I say, thinking of my previous experience with spirits. "We shouldn't do that."

"You're probably right," Kartik says, taking a sip of amber colored liquor from an exquisitely cut crystal bottle. He throws the bottle into the fireplace, where it smashes against the unlit logs. "That should teach them to kick me out," he mumbles.

I am surprised. I had never thought that Kartik would display such anger against his former brotherhood. I'm at a loss for words, so I select a book with a promising title from the shelf.

"Perhaps we should take a few books downstairs?" I suggest. Kartik nods wearily. I suspect his lack of sleep is to blame for his jumping moods. "I'll make tea," I say softly, feeling as if I should do something for him, as he went far out of his way to help me. I leave him in the library and make my way downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I set the water to boil and fill a saucer with cream for the cats. For a moment, I see myself as my mother, preparing my own tea and caring for little ones. It is a good feeling, this independence.

I leave the tea kettle over the fire and return to the parlor just as Kartik returns from the library with an atlas sized book in his hands.

"What's that about?" I ask, settling myself comfortably with my own book on the divan.

"It's a book of Order and Rakshana related art from all over the world. I thought it'd be interesting." He takes a seat in an armchair adjacent to where I'm sitting. "What have you got?"

"Just a history book. I figure I should learn about the history of the Order if I'm to be its leader."

Kartik laughs. "Yes, that might be helpful." I smile. He is certainly good company.

The book's binding creaks as I open it and begin to read. The first few pages contain a preface defining the concept of mythology and how it has evolved into a misconception that myths are figments of one's imagination used to explain the unknown. In the case of the ancient groups of the Order and the Rakshana, the term mythology has been superimposed on their history to prevent the spreading of fear of the powerful women. This transition occurred when the Order and the Rakshana had a falling out, around the 17th century AD.

Angered at their loss of power, the Rakshana used their men in the highest positions to spread the word of witchcraft, therefore killing thousands of Order priestesses all over the world, such as the women burned at the stake in America.

I shiver. "Kartik, did you know the Rakshana was responsible for the Salem witch trials?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That's horrible," I say.

"Gemma, look at this!" Kartik jumps from his chair and takes a seat next to me. He points to a painting of a Grecian woman standing in the Pantheon.

"Pretty," I say.

"Look at her face," Kartik says.

I gasp. Red hair, green eyes.

"She looks like my mother," I say.

"Gemma, she looks like _you_."

I study the picture. The woman is far too beautiful to look like me. She holds herself elegantly, without the aid of a corset. Pleated linen drapes over her form gracefully. I shake my head.

Kartik blinks in disbelief. "Well then, read the title of the painting if you're in doubt."

"High Priestess…" I trail off, not needing to finish the title. "What _is _this?" I ask shakily.

"I don't know, but it was painted over two centuries ago, by a member of the Rakshana."

"Oh, this is too much," I say, rubbing my forehead. "First I'm poisoned by a previous suitor, and now I'm seeing paintings of myself hundreds of years ago. What's next?"

"I don't know," Kartik says sympathetically.

"At least I'm not alone," I say. "I'm glad you're here, Kartik."

"Me too," he murmurs. I am suddenly aware of how close he is to me, and it's as if my body is moving on its own. Our knees touch as I turn just slightly toward him. My heartbeat quickens. His eyes widen. My breathing shallows. I can nearly taste his breath as our lips move ever closer…

"Oh! I left the water boiling!" I shriek, jumping up and hurrying to the kitchen. My cheek tingles where his lips had brushed it by accident. I touch it gingerly, not wanting the feeling to stop. I pour the tea and arrange everything on a tray, but I stop. I can't face him. What is wrong with me? I tried to kiss him and then pulled away. Why did I try to kiss him? Stupid Gemma! What will he think of me now?

I wait until I'm certain that my face has returned to a normal color and bring the tea into the parlor. I don't look at Kartik as I set the tray on the table, for I fear he will be angry.

"Gemma," he says. I reluctantly look at him. His eyes look inviting, as if he wants to pick up where we left off. No. I can't. I won't.

"Tea is served," I say. I reach for my book and take a seat in the armchair, for Kartik is still on the divan. I open the book again and am hit with the urge to cry. I'm so overwhelmed.

"Forgive me for intruding, but you look miserable," Kartik says.

"My family must be so worried for me," I say. Suddenly, I feel like getting it all out. "I left a note, but what could I really say?"

"I know," Kartik says.

"It's so hard, being what I am. I cannot live a normal life. I should just be worrying about parties and my complexion like every other girl. Instead, I have to worry about that _and _the fate of a world I know little about and the lives of everyone around me. The pressure is incredible," I pause, feeling the onslaught of tears.

"And my family, they don't understand. It's not as if I can tell them anything, and if I did, they wouldn't love me anymore. I'd be locked away in a mental institution. I try to be the perfect daughter, I really do. It kills me that I can't help them. I'm nothing but a disappointment." I wipe my cheeks with the backs of my hands. I feel ridiculous for crying in front of him again.

"They have such high expectations for you. It's not fair," he says. "You cannot please everyone."

"Yes, but then who deserves priority – family, friends, creatures of the realms…? There are so many people in want of me and so many people to disappoint. It's exhausting," I say. I can hear Kartik exhale slowly.

"You should start by trying to please yourself. You're the top priority here. A rusted machine cannot work properly."

"You're comparing me to a hunk of rusted metal," I say, laughing weakly.

"You know what I mean. If there's one thing I've learned recently, you can't help others until you help yourself. Stop trying to act the little angel. You don't need to be so selfless all the time."

"So you're saying I should indulge myself?"

"Yes."

"That I should stop thinking of other's opinions and do what I want to for a change?"

"Yes," he says with a hopeful glint in his eye. I stand up and place my hands on my hips. He sits up a little straighter.

"In that case, I'm taking a long, hot bath and I do not wish to be disturbed."

Kartik slumps down again.

**Hehe. Gemma is such a clueless tease. I was going to update earlier, but I forgot it was Father's Day and oh yeah, my wonderful friend let me borrow Guitar Hero for the weekend. So yeah, I didn't update sooner.**

**Thoughts, ideas, complaints? Please review lots! I love getting reviews. It makes me feel like I've accomplished something. (Other than getting a score of over 180,000 on Less Talk, More Rokk on medium. Yes, medium. I'll get to hard eventually! Don't judge me! I'm proud of my sweet 5 starring on medium skillz!)**

**So you know Kartik will be thinking of nothing other than Gemma bathing while Gemma is bathing. She'll come down and be like, "Read anything interesting?" and he will reply, "Read? Bath-naked? You? Errrr...no?"**

**I have a hoof-shaped bruise on my left butt cheek thanks to Scout bucking me off randomly,  
LunaEquus**

**(PS I will not update until I have at least 10 reviews. This is me, holding my power as author over you, the faithful readers, whom I love dearly but should give me more opinions. Because I feel a bit like I'm swimming in Jaws territory at the moment. And that doesn't really make sense...)  
**


	8. Chapter 7

**I am SHOCKED at how many reviews I got. In just one day too! See? Reviewing does work! Have another chapter!**

I still could not believe she tried to kiss me. I told myself to not dwell on it, for she pulled away. Nothing happened, though whatever comfort zone we had developed had diminished. The next few days were quite uneventful, and certainly disappointing. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself that this was not about us as a couple, that we were just friends helping friends, that small nagging part of me wanted it to be more. I was caught between being chivalrous and doing what felt right. And what felt right was to be close to her.

It's not as if that consumed me, however, as there was plenty else to worry about other than failed attempts at romance. We were living in a goldmine of information, and what better way to prepare for the conflicts in the realms than to arm ourselves with knowledge? We spent the greater parts of our days reading and researching the histories of the Order and the Rakshana. Most of what we read was already common knowledge, but Gemma found a book that was partially hidden away that held some shocking information. Well rather it was quite hidden. Locked away, in fact; I had to break the lock to get to it.

She took it and tucked herself up in one of the chairs to read, while I skimmed over a few different books, fast approaching boredom. It was around nine in the evening and all the sconces were lit to read by. All was quiet except for the turning of brittle pages and the occasional sigh of frustration.

"What?" she said softly in disbelief. I looked up. Her eyes were wide.

"I didn't say anything," I said.

"No, I know you didn't," she said, shaking her head. "Listen to this, it is madness!" She sat up straight in her chair and began to read.

"_Throughout history, the Goddess has played a significant role in many different cultures and religions. Unknown to many, however, the Goddess, no matter how she is portrayed, is and has always been based off of the same being. The origin of this mystical and revered deity is actually rooted in the ancient matriarchal society of the Order and is known by them as the most powerful and holy one, their leader, the High Priestess._

"_She is seen all over the world in different forms, both divine and human. Because of the secrecy of the Order, few know that their sacred feminine is actually a flesh and blood person. Even fewer know that she is the same person as the High Priestess before her and the future one to come. She is known to all that worship her as the Most High, the Lady of Hope, for her rebirth signifies a drastic change in the world and the realms. For details on the Goddess and her various reincarnations, please refer to Chapter 37."_

I gaped at her. "You're joking," I said.

"It can't be true," she said, shaking her head. "How can that make any sense? I don't have infinite wisdom or anything like that."

"Well, it would explain the painting," I said slowly, referring to the Grecian woman that looked remarkably like Gemma. "Read more," I pressed. She took a deep breath, looking extremely harassed.

"_Of course, the High Priestess is not the only significant figure in history. Every great ruler had someone by their side, whether it was a lover or someone less conspicuous, and such was the case with the High Priestess. Thus we have the role of the Dignitary, the masculine counterpart to the Goddess. They are kindred spirits, bound together by a mystical power that no one has since been able to explain. _

"_The Dignitary is not to be confused with a god, for the emphasis is and has always been on the divine power of the feminine. He is the shadow to his lover's light; the two holy figures have a paradoxical relationship, for they are both dependent and independent of each other. They rule together, yet over their own charges separately. The Goddess is spiritual, the overseer of her priestesses, the women that wield the magic of the realms. The Dignitary is earthly, the leader of the warriors that protect the priestesses and the realms they cherish. The symbiotic relationship between the spiritual and the earthly spawned the creation of the modern Order and Rakshana."_

I was in shock. "You don't believe this, do you?" Gemma asked.

"I can't really say…"

She looked angry. "This is absurd! It changes everything!"

"It changes nothing," I said, trying to quell her.

"And who is this Dignitary fellow? Shouldn't he be here helping me then?"

For a moment I wondered if perhaps I was that role, but then I remembered that I was kicked out of the Rakshana, and even then, I was merely an initiate.

We tried to put that new information out of our heads, for it certainly didn't help clear the confusion we were experiencing. Duty aside, life with Gemma was comfortable. We got on well with each other, so much in fact that it got to the point that I felt as if I had known her my entire life. It almost felt as if we were newlyweds, getting used to living in our own house together. We'd be preparing breakfast and I'd have the sudden urge to wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her neck from behind. And once when we were sitting side by side in the parlor, I nearly rested my hand on her thigh.

The instinctual feeling to be intimate with her got so insistent that one afternoon when she had fallen asleep on the chaise longue, I had every intention to kiss her in the hopes she wouldn't wake up. However, as I stood over her, marveling at the way her loose hair framed her face and curled over the satin pillow, I felt an unwelcome presence in the room.

I turned around and was hardly surprised to see that porcelain doll staring at me. Her blank face seemed to radiate anger. I suddenly felt an incredible sense of foreboding.

"Gemma," I said, shaking her shoulders. "Wake up!"

"What?" she mumbled. She shrugged my hands off and turned her face away from me.

"Please wake up," I pleaded, hoping I didn't sound too pathetic. She opened her eyes groggily.

"What's the matter?"

"That doll," I said, pointing to it. "There is something not right about it."

Gemma's eyes widened. "I know what you mean! It…moves."

"Oh thank God," I said, relieved. "I'm glad I'm not the only one that thinks so then."

Gemma sat up and yawned. "I'll take it back up to the attic." For a moment she was silent. "I was having the most marvelous dream before you woke me up."

"Did you?" I asked, thoroughly intrigued.

"Yes," she said with a dreamy smile. "I was in a seemingly endless field with nothing all around but thick grass and a large oak tree. It was so beautiful."

"What's so wonderful about that?"

"I felt calm, at peace. I never feel like that anymore. It was a nice change. Well, let me put this back then," she said, taking the doll upstairs.

But unfortunately, that was not the last we saw of that doll. Gemma returned from the attic with the hand mirror she'd admired our first time there. I thought nothing of it; it was only a mirror after all, with no resemblance to a dead person. Perhaps I should have been more wary, but how was I to know that all things from creepy attics were not to be trusted?

The answer came too soon. In the early hours of the morning, I was awoken by a scream and a crash. I ran to Gemma's room to find it ablaze with lights. She sat on the bed, holding her hands to her mouth.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head and pointed to the mounted mirror across from her bed. The mirror laid shattered in pieces over the dresser and floor. In the middle of it all was the gilded hand mirror from the attic. She looked so shaken up. I knelt next to the bed and tried to pry her hands from her face.

"I can't, I can't," she cried. "I can't do this!"

"Can't do what, Gemma?"

"Why won't she just leave me alone?"

I rocked back on my heels and stood up. I took her robe from the wardrobe and handed it to her. "Come on, I'll make some tea for you."

We went downstairs and I quickly prepared some peppermint tea. Our little feline friend followed me into the parlor when I brought her a cup. I set the kitten on her lap and coaxed her to drink.

"Thank you," she said after a few sips.

"See, it likes you after all," I responded, gesturing to the kitten in her lap.

"It's sleeping," she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. In the light of the lamps, they glittered like finely cut emeralds. "It was horrible, Kartik."

"What happened?"

"I was having a nightmare about Circe. She was at the bottom of the well where I had left her, clawing through the water to try to reach me. It was like the water nymphs; I couldn't look away, no matter how hard I tried. I leaned over the well and stared into her face as if it was my own reflection.

"She reached up a hand, and I reached for her. Our hands touched. She said she was a part of me now, whether I liked it or not. She said that I wasn't fit to lead, that I was a mistake…but that with her help…

"She tried to pull me into the well, but I woke myself up. I turned on all the lights and tried to calm down. I picked up the mirror … and saw Circe instead of myself. I looked into the big mirror, thinking perhaps I was just seeing things, but I saw her standing next to me."

Gemma hugged herself and shivered. "Oh, it was terrible…"

For the second time that night, I was stunned into silence. She looked so small and helpless, and all I wanted to do was make it better. But how can you reverse something like that? Before I knew it, I had her in my embrace, holding her so tightly it was if I was the one that had experienced the nightmare come to life. I wasn't afraid of being pushed away, for I knew she needed it. And I needed it too.

She angled herself to face me and I felt her hands slide up to my shoulders. I tightened my arms around her waist, pressing into the small of her back. I barely heard the kitten mewing in protest at being disturbed from its sleep. My lips met Gemma's in a needy kiss. I pulled away just as quickly as I had intruded upon her mouth. For a moment, everything was still. Gemma's hands drifted to the back of my neck and my nose tingled with the aroma of her rose-scented bathwater.

She brought her lips to mine again, this time surprising me with her tongue, which she slipped gently over my bottom lip. We kissed clumsily for a few moments, neither of us certain how to use our tongues. I slipped into her mouth, greeted by the inviting taste of peppermint. Her hands were cool on my skin, sending heat throughout my belly, as she raked her fingers through my hair. My hands groped at her back and sides, eager to feel her form beneath her clothing.

She broke away slightly with a sigh. I gazed into her face, her beautiful eyes shaded by her tear-peaked eyelashes. I kissed her cheeks softly, tasting salt from her tears. My lips found hers a third time and I felt as if it could go on forever, kissing her like that.

But it didn't go on forever. One has to breathe sometime, after all. Gemma rested her head on my shoulder, leaning into me for support. I stroked her hair, delighted to find it was as silky as I had imagined in my romantic mind. Neither of us said anything, for no words were needed. It would have ruined the magic of the moment. She kissed my neck softly. I looked down at her. She smiled and brought her hand to my cheek. I kissed her again, leaning backwards across the chaise longue and bringing her down with me.

We lay silently for a long while. Her hand moved absently across my chest, disturbing the fabric of my shirt. I watched her draw shapes lazily, over and over, and I realized she was tracing her name. She must have sensed I was watching.

"You could be my escape, Kartik," she whispered almost inaudibly. I ran my fingers through the length of her hair.

"So why don't you let me be?"

"I'm afraid," she said shakily. "Afraid of all that can go wrong." She shifted her position and I caught a drift of the scent on her skin.

"Mmm," I mumbled, closing my eyes to savor the smell of her. "Fair enough." I felt her lips on mine again and I accepted her kiss greedily. "We could live like this forever," I breathed.

"I know," she whispered.

We must have fallen asleep; for the next thing I realized was that I was dreaming. Gemma was in the dream as well. We were lying in a lush field, with a bright blue sky above us. Gemma sat up. "This is what I was dreaming of before! Isn't it lovely?"

I hardly saw the reason in moving, for it was so comfortable to just lie and watch the clouds drift by. "It's wonderful," I said. "I don't ever want to leave. Is this part of the realms?"

"I don't think so. I've never been here before."

Gemma picked at the grass and braided it. I watched her make the chain longer and longer. Suddenly the air grew hazy and thick. I reached for Gemma, alarmed. Above us, it was as if the sky was wounded, blood seeping into every last cloud.

"What is happening?" she cried, clutching me around my waist. I felt the ground beneath me change. The grass shriveled and died, revealing jagged stone beneath it. Suddenly I knew where I was. I turned to the horizon and saw the grand oak tree, twisting a warping like a melting candle.

"The Winterlands," I whispered, but my voice was lost over the screeching wind.

"I've got you now, dearest," a shrill voice said from behind me. Gemma gasped.

"Pippa, please don't do this!"

I held Gemma tightly, saying a mantra in head. _Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn…_

"And you've brought me a prize for killing you! How positively generous of you!"

I turned around and immediately wished I hadn't. A monster stood before me, though it was easy to tell who it had once been in life. She held a bloody spear in one hand, with dried bits of skin and fur hanging from it. She pointed it at Gemma, but I couldn't move. _Wake up, Kartik. Just wake up. It'll all go away if you just wake up!_

A sharp pain on my left hand brought me back to reality. I immediately shook Gemma awake.

"Oh thank God!" she said, trying to catch her breath. She threw her arms around me. "How did you get us out of there?"

I looked at my hand, where two pinpricks of blood were forming. The kitten was sitting on the floor watching us patiently. I picked it up. "You saved our lives, did you know that? Or did you just want to get fed?"

Gemma leaned over and kissed the cat's head. "We should probably name it now, as we will be keeping it with us at all times from now on," she said. "It's a boy, you know."

"How do you know?"

"I checked. I wanted to think up names for it anyway."

"So what should we name him?"

Gemma looked at me with a thoughtful expression. "Call me silly, but I rather think Karma is a good name for him."

"Why Karma?"

She smiled and pointed at me. "You're _Kar_tik." she pointed to herself. "I'm Gem_ma._ String our names together and you get _Karma._"

I laughed. "Well aren't you clever, Miss Gemma!" She tilted her face up to mine. I brushed my lips against hers. Our moment was ruined, however, when a china vase smashed on the wall over our heads. We both looked up at the mantle from where it came, startled. The porcelain doll was back in all its menacing, demonic glory.

"Oh!" Gemma whimpered. "It's Pippa!" I stood up quickly.

"I've had enough of this bloody doll," I growled. I grabbed it by the leg and swung it as hard as I could against the wall. Its head shattered immediately. I heard Gemma clapping.

"Bravo!" she said cheerily.

I bowed to her. "And now for my encore…" I picked up all the pieces of porcelain and threw them and the doll's body out the window, which I promptly shut and locked afterwards.

* * *

Simon paces his study impatiently. Suddenly the door flies open and three men stand on the threshold, two of them masked and holding the third one bound and gagged. 

"Don't you buffoons ever knock?" Simon yells angrily. "Sit him down," he ordered to the masked men. They forced the third man into an armchair. His head lolled back, causing his famed trilby hat to fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"That is all," Simon said, waving the able men away. "Well," he said, sitting at his desk with a cruel smile. "Aren't we in trouble, Mr. Bristow?"

**There's trouble afoot, I say. **

**Okay, so the kissing scene wasn't supposed to happen for a few more chapters, but since so many people wanted some action, I bumped it up the list of priorities. So I don't want to hear any complaints about how it's moving too quickly! Comprende? They are 2 teenagers that are very attracted to each other, living alone in a house. I'm surprised she's not preggers yet. Ahaha! Just kidding. **

**Now I know that all of you are cheering Kartik on for his sweet demonicpossessedbyPippadoll smashing skillz. **

**Oh, and I don't take credit for coming up with the whole Karma thing. Someone said it on Libba's LJ and I thought it was too clever to not use.**

**I miss Guitar Hero already,  
LunaEquus**

**(PS Let's try this again since it was so successful. I won't update until I get at least 15 reviews! I'm eeeeevil! I hope Kartik doesn't smash my head against a wall. Though one of you might if I'm not careful O.O)**


	9. Chapter 8

**Hehehe.**

Kartik has been referring to me as Aphrodite for the past two days, ever since we read that apparently I have been reincarnated since the beginning of time. Utter nonsense, if you ask me, especially since we have new things to worry about, our visit to the Winterlands for one, and then of course our unfortunate encounters with Pippa and Circe, or the hauntings, as we like to refer to them as. Kartik has certainly been wonderful and understanding, though he has also been subtly suggesting I visit the realms, to scope things out, and I'm just not ready to.

I sit at the vanity in my room, brushing my hair and trying to see myself through Kartik's eyes. What does he see in me that he does not see in other girls? If I had ever thought for a moment that earning his affections would boost my confidence, I was certainly wrong. Instead, a whole new slew of worries moved into my mind. Do I look as pretty as I did the first time he kissed me? What if he changes his mind? Does my breath smell okay? But even as I worry and worry about such petty things, I can see the change in my reflection. There is a happy girl staring back at me, and even I must say she is lovelier than she ever had been in the past.

I close my eyes and try to clear my head, wondering what is most noticeable on my face, what stands out. I open my eyes and it's as if the room around me has changed, but I cannot say what is different. Perhaps the sunlight streaming in through the window has been covered by a cloud. I frown and lean forward. Of course it's my eyes that are most noticeable, being the bright shade of green they are. On an impulse, I pull my hair off my neck into a messy up-do. Instantly, my eyes stand out even more; they look darker, larger.

I cannot tear my eyes away from my reflection. It changes in some subtle, unnoticeable way. I touch my lips gingerly. They look fuller, rosier. Perhaps from kissing Kartik so much? I have heard that being with a man changes you, not that I've _been _with Kartik though. I blush at the thought and immediately gasp at my reflection. The woman in the mirror looks so positively lovely that she cannot possibly be me.

An odd thought creeps into my head, so vivid that it almost has the air of a memory. I am in a beautiful temple, with pillars of white marble and a ceiling open to the heavens. I see Kartik standing waist-deep in a pool of crystalline water. I know it is him, but my mind recognizes him by some other name. _Alexios._ He gazes at me in utter awe and reverence from the marble pool. Lilies float lazily on the surface of the water. I can see myself in the glassy surface, thin golden bands in my hair, letting the gauzy dress slip from my shoulders and onto the floor. I descend the few steps into the pool, the cool water slipping sensuously up my legs and belly.

"Hypatia," he murmurs, taking me into his slippery embrace. My skin feels so strange against his. Wonderful, but strange. I glide my hand up his arm, marveling at the rivulets of water that form on his taut skin. My mouth closes on his neck; I can feel the water, cool in my mouth, against his hot skin. My body is on fire, every inch of me begging to be touched. He slides his hands over my breasts, back, and hips, saturating my skin with the sacred water. "I have been waiting," he whispers.

But then it ends. I shake my head, impressed with my imagination. My body still aches, and I nearly feel like slipping beneath the covers, or more appropriately, drawing a bath to enjoy it. Sighing, I let my hair down. It is mid morning, and not the time to indulge one's self. Besides, I'd rather be in the company of Kartik.

He is in the parlor, draped casually across the divan, reading. I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, still not entirely comfortable with our newly established relationship. I can never tell when it is appropriate to be romantic, and the anxiety I feel drives me to want to avoid him altogether.

He looks up from his book and takes in the sight of me teetering shyly by the stairs. "I see you've decided to finally grace us with your presence, Lady Aphrodite," he says, smirking.

I throw him a look of disdain. "Why do you insist on calling me that?"

"Because you're my very own goddess of beauty and love," he says, laughing. I push the armchair close to the divan and perch on it in a most unladylike fashion, so that I am facing the back of his head, which is resting on the armrest.

"And what would that make you?" I ask. He tilts his head backwards to look at me upside down.

"My pick of nearly any ancient Greek god or mortal. Aphrodite was a busy one in her day, you know."

"Are you calling me a harlot, Mr. Kartik?" I ask, tracing his bottom lip with my fingertip. His long eyelashes flutter slightly at my touch.

"Who knows what you were like in your past lives?" He laughs again. I pretend to be offended.

"We've been through this. I am not some reincarnate. I am Gemma Doyle and I have a screwed up enough life as it is without throwing past lives into the mix." Kartik's face sobers.

"My sincere apologies," he says solemnly. I know what is coming. "…Aphrodite." I sigh and lean back into my chair. He breaks out into an impish grin.

"Please don't call me that," I say.

"Why not?"

"It's rather embarrassing, you know."

Kartik reaches a hand over his head and cups my chin. "You're right. Your beauty far surpasses any ancient goddess'."

"Sarcasm doesn't help matters."

He applies pressure to my chin, drawing me towards him. "I'm not being sarcastic. Perhaps a touch too romantic, but not sarcastic." His hand reaches to the back of my head, pressing down slightly.

"What do you see in me?" I whisper, thoroughly caught up in his charm. I place my hands on his chest for stability.

"Everything." He tilts his head further back and claims my lips in a most extraordinary kiss.

"So, Mr. Bristow, we can either make this easy," Simon brushes a finger towards an elegantly engraved silver pistol. "Or difficult. The choice is yours."

Kartik's mentor sits before him, bound, but relieved of his gag. He scowls at Simon. "Yer a real spoiled brat, yeh know that?"

"And you're a bothersome old fool, but you already knew that."

"A black mark on the Rakshana! Blasphemy, lettin' you in. Yeh haven't been trained or nothin'!"

Simon smirks. "And I suppose you're one to judge, considering your history?" The old man's face flickers. Simon's smile widens. "Ah yes, I know all about you, _and _your charge."

"I don't know what yer talkin' about."

"The boy, old man, where is he?"

Mr. Bristow chuckles bitterly. "You call him a boy, yet he's twice the man you'll ever be."

Simon stands up sharply, slamming his fists on the polished surface of his desk, rattling the silver pistol. He closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe. He paces the length of his study. "Yet I am the one who took his place in this prestigious brotherhood. And why is that? You praise his character, but I am the one that can actually get things done." He rubs his chin and smiles, his own words reassuring him. "It would seem the Rakshana have chosen the better man."

"I reckon it was the girl who chose the better man."

Simon's eyes flash angrily. "You don't know what you're talking about, old man," he growls.

Mr. Bristow grins defiantly. "Ah, but this is what it's all about, innit? Two males fightin' over a female, right as rain."

Simon's anger bubbles over. He strikes the old man in the face. "Where are they?"

Mr. Bristow tastes blood in his mouth. "Yer a coward, hittin' me like that, all tied up. I reckon Kartik would never display such weakness."

Simon scoffs. "_Kartik?_ He's nothing but a disgraceful heathen. Clinging to Miss Doyle in the hopes of some future _glory._ You call me a coward, while he was the one too pathetic to even carry out his assignment."

Mr. Bristow twists uncomfortably, the ropes cramping his aging muscles. "I don't see how givin' up everything you've ever known for the hope of a better future is pathetic," he says quietly.

"You're quite right. It's stupid. See where it has led you?"

He doesn't respond. Simon takes a seat at his desk. "You've gambled it all away. You have no money, your own brotherhood doesn't trust you, and you're certainly not getting any younger." An evil smile twists his aristocratic features cruelly. "Let's settle down to business, Mr. Bristow. You are aware, I'm sure, of the fine reward for the capture of the boy?"

Simon catches the flicker of greed in the old man's eye. _Perfect_. "Ten thousand pounds, isn't that right? A rather exorbitant sum for such a worthless boy, in my opinion, however," he reaches below his desk and lays a leather briefcase on the table. "I would be willing to match that reward, right this moment, if you tell me where they are."

The man's mouth opens in disbelief. "Yer tellin' me that you have ten thousand pounds in yer case? Right now?"

Simon opens the case and watches the man gape at its contents. "Ten thousand pounds, Mr. Bristow, in perfectly usable bank notes. Tell me where to find them and you walk out of here a rich man. Not to mention your reward will be doubled when you hand deliver the boy to the Rakshana. You'll finally regain your glory among your brothers."

"So yeh want me to betray the boy who was like my son?" Mr. Bristow asks, his voice shaking.

Simon leans forward and whispers in the old man's ear. "Was he not the one who betrayed you first?"

"I can't do it!" Mr. Bristow pleads. Beads of sweat form on his waxy forehead.

Simon sighs in frustration. He cocks the pistol and places its tip at the old man's temple. "Do we have a deal, Mr. Bristow?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"Kartik, let's pretend for a moment like this whole reincarnation thing is real. It's not, of course, but hypothetically speaking."

Kartik throws his hand of cards (pair of nines, nothing else) onto the table. "Alright," he says, leaning back into his chair.

I shuffle our cards back into the deck. "Who do you suppose the Dignitary could be?"

Kartik shifts uncomfortably. "I don't know. Obviously a member of the Rakshana though. Lucky fellow, whoever he is," he mumbles, taking the deck from me.

I find myself smiling despite his jealousy. "Kartik," I say so that his eyes meet mine. "Has it ever occurred to you that you might be the Dignitary?"

He taps the deck of cards on the table. "I am no longer Rakshana," he says.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Of course I've thought of it!" he says, exasperated. "And then I thought of how ridiculous I was being for even thinking that I could be someone like that!"

"How is that ridiculous?" My voice rises unintentionally.

"Gemma, I was only an initiate of the Rakshana. The Dignitary is supposed to be the leader. I'm not the leader."

"Not yet…"

"Well, it's too late now. I wish I was the man you are looking for, but as it appears, I am not." He looks so downtrodden that I could kick myself for arguing with him. I reach across the table and take his hands in mine.

"Well," I say with a small smile. "You may not be the man I am looking for, but you are the man I found."

He cocks his head uncertainly.

I squeeze his hands. "We're a great team, you and I. I would never give that up for some man that comes around at the last minute. You've been here when I've needed you; that means more to me than any prophecy."

Kartik smiles sheepishly, a rosy color brushing across his cheekbones. His fingers play with mine, as if he cannot keep from touching my skin. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

My smile falters slightly. I know what he wants to hear, the same thing he's tried to tell me before, but I'm not quite ready to say it. "Some things are better left unsaid," I say delicately.

The twinkling leaves his eyes. "Is that so?" he asks. His fingers fall dormant in mine.

"For now," I press, not wanting him to be angry with me. He pulls his hands away and stands up.

"Gemma, I just don't understand you. Why must you play these games?"

"What games?" I ask, my eyes growing wide.

"Do you think it's fun, toying with me like this?"

"Kartik, I'm not toying with you!"

He folds his arms and eyes me like a hawk. "Then what is it? Why can't you just…"

"Just what?" I whisper.

"Never mind," he says, turning to the kitchen. I follow on his heels.

"Kartik, tell me!"

"Gemma, please!" He turns to look at me. "Good night."

I stop in my tracks. "Fine," I say, feeling my heart break. I watch him disappear through the kitchen door. A few moments pass, but I cannot turn away. I know I should not hover over him, that I should just leave so that I don't seem like a simpering idiot, but feminine intuition tells me to stay.

Suddenly I know why. The door crashes open and Kartik dashes out, catching my wrist as he flies by.

"Ouch!" I yelp as he wrenches me off balance. His free hand claps over my mouth.

"Get upstairs. NOW! And hide!" The fear in his eyes raises a panic in me. "Go now!"

But I stand, stubborn as a donkey. "I won't leave you," I say resolutely. He is about to object, but another crash sounds in the kitchen, startling us. He grabs a poker from the fireplace.

"Please," he whispers. I turn and run up the stairs, concealing myself just beyond the landing. I watch in horror as three men walk into the parlor. With greater terror I recognize the foreman. _Simon._

Kartik stands poised, his every muscle at the ready. Simon eyes the poker and laughs. "Do you think you can head us all off with _that_?"

"Anything can be deadly in the right hands," Kartik replies breezily.

"Well that won't be necessary." Simon snaps his fingers. "Get him."

The two other men advance on Kartik. The first one, a severely balding man, attempts to grab his arm. He twists away with ease, slashing at Bald Man with the poker as if it was a sword. The man proves surprisingly agile for his age, and catches the poker in his hand, trying to tug it away from Kartik.

Kartik delivers a swift kick to Bald Man's stomach, using the tension from the man's grasp for added torque. He doubles over and Kartik ducks to avoid a blow from the other man's fist. Kartik dives into the man, grabbing his legs and throwing him off balance. He crashes into the coffee table.

Simon glowers and pulls a silver pistol from his coat pocket. "That's enough of that. I shan't have you messing things up anymore." He aims the pistol at Kartik.

I cannot stand by any longer. Without any fear, I leap from the top of the stairs and into Simon, pushing him to the ground just as he fires his gun. I see Kartik fall to his knees out of the corner of my eye.

"What the devil?" Simon asks from beneath me. The fall has jarred my senses. My vision blurs as I scramble to my feet as quickly as I can.

"Kartik!" I cry, running to him. "Are you alright?" Blood seeps through the shirt on his shoulder.

He winces. "Just grazed me, I think. I'm fine." Relief gushes through me.

"Gemma." Simon says from behind me. He pulls me away from Kartik and holds me to him, despite my frantic attempts to break free. "I finally have you," he whispers into my ear. "I'm not letting you go now."

"Gemma!" Kartik tries to reach for me, but the two men have recovered, and have completely held him down.

"Kartik," I whimper. Simon's hand caresses my neck.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Me too," I whisper. Simon's thumb rubs at the nape of my neck, as if he tries to soothe me. I watch helplessly as the two men struggle to bind Kartik's arms and legs. The thumb at my neck applies more pressure. "Don't do this, Simon," I say tearfully. "Please."

"Too late." He drives his thumb into the base of my skull with a crushing force and everything goes black.

**Hmm. Hmmmm. Yeah. **

**I PUT THOUGHT INTO THOSE GREEK NAMES. Alexios means defender and Hypatia literally means most high. Rather appropriate, I think. And psychoPippa doll is gone for the moment. Yes, I am aware that Kartik's mentor sounds like Hagrid. Pshh. **

**Mmkay, two people from here friended me on Myspace, but I've no idea who you are. Not that I mind that you friended me, I just want to know which reviewers you are. I already know Necily and MarcyPlayground, but there are two others. Come forward, dear friends!**

**Watch the Robot Chicken spoof on Harry Potter because it is the funniest thing ever,  
LunaEquus**

**(Seriously. Ghetto Dumbledore. liek srsly)**

**And I feel bad for holding my power as author over you for reviews. I will cease. But keep in mind that they give me a hitch in my giddy up and make me smile. And I need all the smiles I can get, as work starts Monday.**


	10. Chapter 9

**This one's a doozy. Just warning you! I hope no one gets confused. It jumps POV a lot.**

I awoke to the hushed tones of men whispering. My first instinct was to open my eyes and scope out my surroundings, but experience told me to feign sleep for a while longer. I was lying on a damp stone floor, the air around me cold and smelling of earth. I knew where I was, in a cell in the basement of the Rakshana's headquarters. I had been there only once before, but not as a prisoner. I had visited my mentor shortly after his brothel incident.

My head felt heavy and my muscles were throbbing with the desire to move. I felt a tightness in my right shoulder, where the bullet had grazed me. _The bullet._ The memories of that evening came flying back. Simon Middleton flanked by two grunt men. Gemma falling unconscious in his arms. _He took her away from me. _

Anger seeped through my every vein, compromising my fake sleep. I struggled to remain dormant, thought every inch of me wanted only one thing - to find and strangle Simon Middleton.

The whispers grew clearer as the ringing in my ears stopped. I could hear everything they were saying. There were two men, presumably the same ones that captured me.

"How much longer do you reckon we'll have to wait here?"

"Mr. Middleton said he would send someone down for this one. When they arrive, he said we could leave."

"I wonder who's coming for him. You don't suppose they're going to kill him, do you? I'd rather stick around for that."

My stomach turned with fear. I didn't want to die until I at least knew Gemma was safe.

"Nah, they're not going to kill him yet. The Grand Master is making his way to London. He gives the final word."

"Where'd the girl go? She was a pretty little thing. We don't get many ladies here anymore."

"Mr. Middleton took her all the way upstairs I believe. It's his club up there, you know. I suppose she's tied up in a room somewhere."

The men laugh. "Perfectly appropriate though. The lady gets finer jailing, and this one has no way of getting to her through all those gentlemen. Not like he'd ever get past us."

My heart sank, for I knew he was right. No better security than a popular and exclusive gentleman's club. My blood boiled at the notion that Simon had Gemma tied up in a room, probably with the intentions of ruining her…

I sat up with a jolt. Gemma was very much in danger and I was quite incapacitated. The men looked at me curiously.

"About time you woke up," the bald man says. I didn't respond. "You know, you've got a mighty bit of fight in you," the man says, rubbing his stomach. "I think you cracked one of my ribs."

Another man appeared through the door and gestured to the bald man. The two of them left, leaving me with the other man. He stared down his long nose at me.

"How did you find me?" I asked quietly, certain I wasn't going to like the answer. The man grins.

"Let's just say you made a mistake thinking you had any loyalty left among our numbers, little Kartik."

My mouth dropped open in recognition. He chuckled. "Ah yes, you remember me? I tutored you in mathematics when you were just a wee lad, isn't that right? You had a lot of potential, my boy. Pity you had to go sour on us."

To see the man that had once patted me on the back and told me I was gifted smiling with such malice at the prospect of my death nearly broke my heart. I felt numb, drowned in the hopelessness of the moment. To think that these men that had been like my family clamored to turn me in for a bit of wealth...though I suppose they believed me to have done the same to them, denying them access to the realms in order to save Gemma.

The bald man returned. "Tie him up," he said, gesturing to me.

"What?" I protested. "I'm already behind bars!"

The men shared a knowing smile. "Your visitor has requested that we tie you up." He unlocked the door to the cell and produced a length of rope. As he neared me, I saw the door ajar, tempting me with its promise. Without further thought of consequence, I dashed for it, and was immediately thrown back by my former tutor.

"Now, now, behave, little one," he grunted, trying to hold my shoulders down. I kicked at him furiously, but the third man reappeared to aide my captors. The last thing I remembered was a hand scrambling to find the pressure point on the back of my neck, then everything faded to nothing.

* * *

_I watch him stand at the balcony, his figure but a silhouette against the bright moon. I know of what keeps him from sleep, I can see it in the way he bows his head in weary anticipation, how his hands clench and unclench as he mentally prepares himself for what is to come. _

_I slip from the silk sheets of our bed and walk to his side, where I belong. He senses my presence without looking and opens his mind to me. I feel all of his worries and anxieties wash over me with perfect understanding. Such has always been our way._

_I rest my forehead against the marking between his shoulder blades and smooth my fingers over his tense muscles in a loving caress. _

"_What have we done wrong, Hypatia?" he whispers, his voice reaching my ears like the sweetest of lullabies. I raise my eyes to his and seek my comfort in the deep brown irises. His hand reaches for mine, our fingers lacing together. _

"_Perhaps they should not be allowed in this world," I say. "Perhaps it was a mistake trusting them so."_

"_So many people have suffered," he says sadly. "We must make this right. No exceptions. They must all go back."_

"_And what of your men?" He closes his eyes as if in pain. His fingers grasp at mine tightly._

"_They must go back." He unclenches his left fist and holds his hand up to the light. A red poppy, the symbol of death and resurrection, lay crushed in his palm._

I stir from my unconsciousness, my head a jumble of thoughts and confusion. I try to move and find I can't. I panic, my muscles screaming in pain.

"You're awake." Simon's voice forces the bile to rise in my throat. I whimper, pulling at the ropes tying my wrists and ankles to the bed posts. "Open your eyes," he says. "I want to see your fear."

I keep my eyes tightly shut, denying him what he wants, and saving myself from what I may see. "Now that you're awake, we can have some fun. Gemma," he breathes into my ear. "You've no idea how fun this will be for me." He moves his lips to my neck.

"Simon, don't -, please!"

"Yes, Gemma, beg." His hands grope at my figure, making me feel cheap, dirty, and very much in danger. "Mmm, do you want to know where your Indian friend is?"

My blood runs cold. "What have you done to him?" I cry.

"No worries, my precious, he is all the way downstairs, locked away so he can't save you," Simon says, cupping one of my breasts. "Oh, very nice. You see, Gemma, I'm doing you a favor right now. It would be much worse if you were caught with him."

A scream lies trapped in my throat; fear, coupled with the ropes, holds my body in paralysis. Simon's hand runs up my thigh and I fear I shall die from this humility.

All of a sudden, it's as if someone has placed a calming hand over my heart. A woman's voice sounds in my head. _Sleep, sleep. I will take care of this._ It is the last thing I hear.

* * *

I awoke again, this time to the sensation of unfamiliar lips pressing against mine. I opened my eyes in a panic, only to see Emily hovering over me. I went to push her off, only to be met by the resistance of the ropes holding my arms over my head.

"Oh, hello," she said shyly.

"Emily? What the hell is going on?"

"Don't be angry with me Kartik, please," she said, running a hand over my chest. "I did this for us."

"_Us_?!" I yelled. "There is no _us_!" She gave me a wounded look.

"You're lying. You're just upset. Relax," she said, leaning to kiss me again. I turned my head sharply to avoid her lips. She kissed my neck instead.

"What are you doing?" I asked angrily. "Untie me!"

"This way you can't get away. Trust me, you'll enjoy this." She batted her eyelashes at me.

"Enjoy _what?_" I asked. She smiled coyly and started to undo the laces of my trousers. "Oh no! No you don't! Stop it! Emily! I don't feel this way about you!"

She stopped. "Are you trying to say that all those nights in the stables, you never felt anything about me?" Her lips quivered sadly.

"No," I said, sighing. "I never felt anything for you."

A strangled noise escapes her mouth. "You're lying! Simon said you did! He said I could have you if I helped him get Miss Doyle!"

The breath left my lungs in a whoosh. "You were in on it after all," I said quietly. "Emily, how could you be so stupid?"

"Yes, that's right, I'm stupid! Everyone knows it, don't they?" she shrieked hysterically. "Everyone tries to use me, but this time I won't let them!" She tried to kiss me again.

"Get off of him." The initial sound of her voice filled my heart with hope, though the sight of her left me speechless. Gemma stood in the doorway of the cell, in just her undergarments, covered in blood. Emily stood up, terror crossing her features.

"How did you get out? What happened to Simon?" she demanded fearfully. Gemma looked at the bloody knife in her hand as if she didn't even know she was carrying it. She dropped it, wincing as she looked at the blood smeared up her arms.

"You witch!" Emily screamed, running out of the cell. She slammed the door shut and locked it. "I hope you're happy together," she said, tears streaming down her face. Without another word, she fled from the room, leaving Gemma and I locked in the cell, alone.

Gemma looked at me, terrified. "Kartik, I – uh, are you alright?" she squeaked, falling to her knees at my side. She struggled with the ropes holding my hands together until they came free.

"I'm fine," I said softly, rubbing at my chafed wrists. "Please tell me you are."

She stared at me, her green eyes large and haunted. I immediately feared for the worse. "He didn't -,"

She shook her head. "Kartik, I think I killed Simon," she whispered. Tears streamed down her face, cleansing small stripes of splattered blood from her skin. My lips parted in shock. I placed my hands on her shoulders to steady her, and myself as well.

"What happened? Tell me," I said, trying to look understanding. Truthfully, I was scared, not of her, but of everything the past few hours have held.

She took a few deep breaths. "I woke up tied to his bed. He had every intention to…" She lowered her eyes from mine.

"He didn't, right?" I asked.

"That's where it gets confusing," she said shakily. "I…fell asleep, but I don't know how. When I woke up…" Another sob escapes from her. "I was free of my binding and Simon was covered in blood on the floor. I don't know what happened, but I think I killed him!" She broke down crying.

I rubbed her back soothingly, trying to get my head around what she explained to me. Perhaps shock jarred her senses? Superhuman strength in times of panic? Or perhaps something deeper was at work, a set up maybe.

"I'm a monster!" she wailed. I tightened my arms around her.

"You are not," I assured her. "You were backed into a corner."

She grasped at my shirt and pulled herself closer to me. "What are we going to do now?"

I stroked her hair, taking comfort in the fragrance that managed to overpower the blood. "We wait," I said.

* * *

Emily runs up the stairs in a panic. _He's not dead. He can't be! _ She pushes open the door to the room she knew Simon was staying in and instantly exhales in relief. He's standing at the mirror, wiping blood off a cut on his face.

"You're alright!"

Simon looks up in surprise. "Why aren't you with Kartik?"

"I thought you were dead…"

Simon smirks. "Few stab wounds is all. I figured I'd play dead until she left."

"How did she do it?" Emily shifts her weight nervously.

"She didn't. It seems Circe has found a way into this world after all, through Miss Doyle herself."

Emily's mouth opens in surprise. "So it was Circe who attacked you? I'm so sorry!"

Simon nodded absently, sensing another problem growing. It seems Emily is more attached to him than he thought.

"Well it seems we're back where we started," she says shyly. "Perhaps maybe, we can still work together?"

Simon nods to himself, confirming his original thought. It would never work. Emily is too easy, and plus, she's a maid. However, she takes his nodding as an agreement. He notices this as well and holds out his arms for her with a wide smile, malice glinting just beyond his blue eyes. She steps eagerly into his embrace, never noticing the knife concealed in his hand.

He strokes her hair lovingly, making small shushing noises like a mother quelling her child. "Good bye, Emily," he whispers, his lips brushing against her ear.

"What?" She looks up at him, confused. In a swift motion, Simon brings the knife across her neck, slitting open her throat.

* * *

A presence in the room roused me from my trance. We had been locked in the cell for at least two hours, and things weren't looking good. Gemma was in shock, unable to look me in the eye since her recount of her incident. I was in great pain from my injuries and lack of care. And we were both very thirsty.

My mentor appeared at the cell timidly.

"Mr. Bristow!" I cried, jumping up. Gemma's eyes followed. He chuckled sadly.

"Yeh never would call me Charlie, yeh know that?" His hands shakily unlocked the cell. Neither Gemma nor I moved.

He sighed. "I understand yer hesitation, my boy, but we've got to get yeh both out of here. I'll explain on the way."

Gemma and I followed reluctantly as he escorted us from the building. There was a hint of a glow on the horizon, indicating that dawn was not very far away. He walked with us back to the house we had been staying at.

"I didn't want to do it, I assure yeh. He held a gun to my head, that son of a bitch. I panicked, my boy, I'm sorry. But I couldn't let him kill me until I told yeh one last thing."

"And what is that?" I asked shakily.

"Yer mother, Kartik. She's looking for yeh."

My eyes widened. "My mother?"

He smiled. "I wrote to her when yeh left. We've been corresponding ever since. There's a lot yeh need to know, my boy," He nodded to Gemma. "You too. But I think it's better if yer mother told yeh. She told me to give yeh this." He handed me an envelope. I tucked it away to read later, for it was then that we reached the house.

"You two go in and get yer things. I'll wait outside."

"How did you get access to this place anyway?" I asked, having been curious for awhile.

"They had me cleanin' it," he said with a sad smile.

Gemma and I quickly gathered up our possessions. She disappeared into her room briefly to put on a new dress, as hers had been left behind. As she changed, I made a quick trip to the attic to retrieve something that had been in the back of my mind since I first saw it. I pulled the white dress from the chest, knowing one day Gemma would thank me for taking it.

We met in the parlor and gazed at each other wordlessly. "Ready?" I asked after a moment of silence. She shook her head.

"We're forgetting someone," she said. "Karma."

"Wouldn't he be happier with his family?" I asked, not wanting to spend anymore time in that house.

"He's ours," she said with finality. I nodded in agreement.

A few moments later we stood with my mentor in the yard, suitcase in my hand, cat in hers. He looked uneasy.

"Kartik, I have something for yeh." He handed me the briefcase he was carrying.

"What's this?" I asked, feeling the bulk inside.

"The reward for yer capture. Ironic, I know. I figured yeh'd have more use for it than I." He nodded to himself for a moment, tears filling his eyes. "Yeh've no idea how sorry I am, my boy."

"It's forgiven," I said awkwardly.

He shakes his head. "This is where I leave yeh both. Madame, it was a pleasure meeting you. Kartik," he clasps hands with me. "An honor to have known you, boy."

"What do you mean?" I asked, panicked. He produced a pistol from his twill coat and pressed it to his own temple. My heart nearly stopped as I cried out. "No!"

"Good bye, my boy."

For all I know the shot that sounded had stopped my own heart. Everything slowed down as he fell to the ground, dead in a split second. I was only vaguely aware of Gemma's gasp and her struggling with the cat that wanted nothing more than to get away. She finally gave up and let Karma streak away into the night.

I fell to my knees, staring at the pool of blood growing larger by the minute. Gemma threw her arms around my shoulders, coaxing me to lean on her. "What-?" I gestured to his body. "Why?" My voice sounded weak, strangled.

"Kartik, please, we cannot stay here."

"Gemma…" I looked into her eyes, hoping to find something, anything that would explain. There was nothing except for her own misery. "Where can we go?"

"Let's go to Felicity's. Maybe she'll take us in."

I looked at the body of my old mentor, my friend. I reached over and picked up his Trilby hat, turning it over in my hands. I placed it over his face. "Your suffering's over, old man." I breathed deeply, keeping the tears at bay. I looked to Gemma and felt a renewed sense of purpose. I may not have been able to save him, but I can be there for her.

I picked up her suitcase and she took the briefcase in her hands, no longer burdened by the cat. "I'm sorry Karma got away."

"It's probably for the best," she replied with a hint of a smile. I knew then that things would be okay. I kissed her lightly and took her hand in mine.

"Goodbye, Charlie," I said, looking back one last time.

**o.O It's getting quite serious now. **

**Not sure how fast the updates will come now. I start work tomorrow morning at 8:30. Until 5. Most of my days will be like that. Except for Wednesdays. 8:30 to 9 pm. Yay summer camp! (was sarcasm)**

**So what do you think of this chapter? I've never written anything like this. (so serious) **

**Did anyone catch that Alexios's army was the Poppy Warriors? Poppies had a lot of symbolism in Greek and Roman mythology as a sacrifice for the dead and a symbol for resurrection. The ancient Greek flashbacks are gonna get cooler! **

**Simon Middleton is a bully and a poo head,  
LunaEquus**


	11. Please read

**Author's note - deleted due to realization of serious overreactiveness. Still, I thank you all for your overwhelmingly kind response to my lack of self confidence as a writer. It means a lot to me, even now! So thank you and enjoy the rest of High and Dry.**

**-LunaEquus**


	12. Chapter 10

**Many thanks for all the support over the past few days. It means the world to me, truly. It's taken me awhile, but after writing a few oneshots and finding my inspiration again, here is the next chapter. Enjoy!**

I can't look at him. These past few hours have been so strange that I just don't know how to react. A few moments ago, I felt fine, or at least calm. But now…

I train my eyes on the ground, but I can still see him. He doesn't try to engage me in conversation, though a few minutes ago he was alright as well. I suspect he is in the same situation as I, stunned and upset, but there is no comfort in that. We both suffer, but we suffer alone; there is seemingly no sympathy that we can offer each other. A close friend of his just committed suicide right before our eyes. Upsetting to me too, terrifying, really, but I was already numb. I still am. I was almost raped. I murdered a man. No, not just any man. _Simon. _Beautiful Simon, who was once the most charming man I knew. What had gone wrong? Surely my rejection could not have driven him to such madness…But nevertheless, he is dead. I killed him. I killed Simon.

I wonder if Simon is walking through the dense forest in the realms. I wonder if he'll stumble into the garden and be brought to his knees by its beauty. Despite everything, I hope he can cross over and find peace.

The briefcase bangs against my knees as I walk silently next to Kartik. It feels heavy in my hands, weighted by more than the ten thousand pound notes tucked away inside. It is leaded by the circumstances under which it was given to us. Two men dead, two lone souls damaged, walking in the mist of dawn. I had never imagined things to turn out this way. No matter how much I try to avoid it, too many people get involved, too many people get hurt.

Suddenly I stop and carefully take in my surroundings. _Which way is home?_ Kartik stops as well and looks at me with weary eyes.

"What is the matter?"

"We're going the wrong way."

"This is the way to Miss Worthington's." I shake my head.

"I want to go home," I say, my voice shaking. "I can't do this anymore." Kartik looks at me, his eyes glassy and bloodshot.

"Gemma, you can't give up," he says, blinking away a few tears. "If you give up, then I…" He turns away from me, his hand flying to his head. There is a part of me that wants to comfort him, but I have nothing to tell him that can make it okay.

He turns back, the tears gone and replaced with determination. "Lady Hope just doesn't give up. Too many people need you." His words dangle between us as a taunt; I am a selfish little girl if I give up. But I never asked for this responsibility, it was given to me, regardless of whether I can handle it or not.

"Why should I sacrifice everything for something I don't even want? What has anyone done for me lately?" Yes, I'm whining, but I don't care. I'm tired, traumatized, and covered in blood. Kartik stares as if he cannot believe his ears.

"What has anyone done for you? Gemma, I gave up _everything _for you. For this cause. I believe in it, I believe in you. Isn't that enough?" I drop the briefcase and spread my arms wide.

"Look at me. I _murdered_ a man and didn't know I was doing it. Who is to say it won't happen again? I am unsafe to be around!" Kartik swipes at my cheek with his thumb and licks the blood off.

"Hmm," he says, pretending to consider something. "Just as I thought. It isn't even blood." My mouth opens in shock. "You were set up. I had my suspicions, but I didn't say anything."

I am too stunned to reply. Set up? Simon is still alive. But why? Why would he make me think that I had murdered him?

Kartik stands impatiently, tapping his foot on the cobblestones. "So what now?" he asks.

"We…go to Felicity's," I stammer, relieved that I have not taken any lives recently. There is still Nell Hawkins, but I try not to dwell on it. It was what she wanted. At least, that is what I tell myself.

He nods stiffly. "Perhaps if I'm lucky she won't try to kill me," he says with a hint of a smile. I frown, trying to think what on earth he is talking about. And then it hits me. Back in October, she killed a deer and then tried to kill Kartik as well, to gain her own entrance to the realms. How…innocent life seemed back then.

"Doubtful," I say. "She can be quite crotchety in the mornings. I'd guard my eye sockets, if I were you." I catch his eye and smile. Suddenly I feel as if everything will be okay.

* * *

"Gemma?!"

I sigh in relief when I hear Felicity's familiar voice. No matter that it's 5 o'clock in the morning, or that I had just endured a kidnapping, evaded an attempted rape, and was set up to make me think I had murdered a former suitor, not to mention witnessed a suicide; I am happy to see my friend. A bubble of hope forms under the sludge that has been the past few hours. She stands at the door in slippers and a robe, staring at the spectacle of Kartik and myself, sullen and bloodstained.

"Are you alright? What happened? What's he doing here?" she demands, folding her arms over her chest.

"Please," I say. "There is much to discuss. We need somewhere safe to stay for awhile. Can we count on you?" Her cold grey eyes narrow at Kartik.

"What do you mean by 'we'?"

"Fee, please," I insist. "I'll explain everything."

"Fine," she snaps. "This better be worth being disturbed from my beauty sleep." She holds the door open and beckons us to enter. Once inside, she leads us to the parlor and takes great care in shutting the door so no servants can eavesdrop.

Kartik and I sit closely on the velvet divan, something that does not get past Felicity. Her small eyes dart between us in question, a slight sneer forming on her face. Kartik glares back at her, his expression trained to be stoic, but his eyes revealing much more - animosity, suspicion, and distrust. I wish he could just let go of the past and trust her like I do. But the truth is, he did witness her at her darkest moments, and Kartik is not one to trust easily.

Felicity raises her eyebrows, her trained smile flickering. "Gemma, darling," she coos warmly. "How good to see you! I have missed you so." She is putting on a show of hospitality towards me, to let Kartik know just how much he is not wanted. I glance at him apologetically, and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, "what are we doing _here_?"

I clear my throat as delicately as possible, which is to say not very delicately at all. "Felicity, I'm not quite sure where to begin. There is trouble…well, everywhere." She listens intently as I recap the past week or so, starting with my departure from home and ending with Mr. Bristow's suicide. Naturally, I leave out certain details, such as the obvious – Kartik and my budding relationship as…something, and the hard to explain – Pippa's apparent haunting of a porcelain doll.

Throughout my quick summarization, Felicity listens intently, her eyes widening as I skim over the odd events. I nearly enjoy myself, feeling very much the revered storyteller. But then I remember that I speak truth and not fairy tales, and the humor drains.

Felicity sits for a moment, absorbing the information and trying to process its meaning in her brain. "Simon," she says. "_Simon? _I don't believe it. He may be full of himself, but he is nothing like what you've just described."

"I know," I say sadly. "At least, that's what I thought. But it really was Simon."

"But why would he set you up? Describe it to me again," she demands. I detail last night again for her. Waking up tied to his bed, his odd behavior, blacking out, the weapon in my hand, seeing him in a bloody heap on the floor…

There is silence when I stop talking. To my left and in front of me, Kartik and Felicity both appear to try to process what information they have, trying to figure out why Simon would have faked his death.

"What if," Felicity says, her eyes sparkling. "What if Simon was set up as well and this is all just one big mess?"

"I don't disagree that this is one big mess, but how does it make sense that Simon was set up as well?" I ask.

"I just don't believe that Simon is capable of acting like that. There must have been someone behind the scenes, telling him what to do."

I frown. "No one was making Simon touch me like that, Felicity," I say sharply, shocked by my own frankness. She lowers her eyes from me in a rare moment of submission. I am angry that she is not taking my words seriously, but I understand her desire to justify Simon's behavior. "I do, however, agree that someone must be telling him what to do."

Kartik's voice nearly startles me. I had almost forgotten he was sitting next to me. "The Rakshana," he says. "They are the ones behind it."

"Well it's obvious that no one from the Rakshana can be trusted." Felicity shoots a piercing glare at Kartik. "You see how much that's done for you already."

"Kartik is no longer Rakshana," I say resolutely. "I trust him with my life."

Felicity senses the defiance in my voice. "Why didn't you come straight to me for help? There was no need to get _others_ involved," she hisses.

"And what do you think you exclusively have for this cause, Miss Worthington?" Kartik says angrily.

"I have been to the realms. I _know _what we're up against. You've never been, so what can you honestly say that you know?" she shoots back. The animosity between them is incredible. I fear they shall grow teeth and rip each other apart like a pack of wolves on a rabbit.

"I know that I've been there for Gemma when no one else knew she needed help."

"Well, if I had _known_ she was in trouble I certainly would have been there!"

"Yes, but you were too caught up with your _parties _and _tea dances _to be bothered, correct?" Kartik says nastily. Felicity looks highly offended.

"And what will you be able to do for her when you're locked up in Newgate for being seen with her?"

"Felicity!" I say, shocked at her threats. The reason for such hostility suddenly hits me. It's competition. Neither of them wants to be thought of less than the other. "Listen," I say, exhaustion settling into my bones. "There is no time for us to be fighting. How can we expect to fight our enemies if we cannot work together?"

Kartik speaks first after a long, uncomfortable silence. "I'm sorry. You're right." He holds a hand out to Felicity.

She hesitates for a moment. "Truce," she says, shaking his hand. Felicity settles herself back primly in her chair. "Father is at sea," she says. "And my mother has returned to France. Now that I've had my debut, she feels no more need to hover over me." She smiles wickedly. "You both may stay."

* * *

The morning sun filters weakly through the closed drapes in the room I was shown to stay in. I had just spent an hour in the bath, scrubbing away the fake blood and memories of last night and letting the hot water soothe away my aches and pains. Now I sit at the vanity in a fresh dressing gown, combing through the tangles in my wet hair. Felicity has thankfully given us leave for the day, offering to let us rest up in peace while she waits impatiently for details.

There is a knock at the door. "Come in," I sing out, suspecting that Felicity's curiosity has gotten the best of her. Instead it is Kartik that enters, carrying a small bundle of rolled canvas. "Oh, hello," I say, standing. He closes the door behind him.

"I was hoping you weren't asleep," he says sheepishly. "I need your help with something."

"Of course," I say. He places the bundle on the bed and unrolls it. Inside is an assortment of shining medical tools and a small bottle of antiseptic.

"It seems the bullet wound is a bit deeper than I thought," he explains. My eyes widen.

"I don't know a thing about medicine," I say, uneasy at the prospect of witnessing more blood.

"I know. I'd just rather have you do it," he says quietly. "I'd tried to do it in the bath, but I can't quite see it. I believe there are shards stuck in there." My stomach lurches. "Please," he says.

I nod, cursing myself for being so selfish. "Just…tell me what to do okay?" I say shakily.

"Of course." Kartik pulls his clean shirt over his head, revealing the finely formed torso I had dreamt about for months. The sight of his honey brown skin stretching smoothly over the sleek muscles of his chest and shoulders makes me feel dizzy. It's better than any dream; he is here, it is real, and I want nothing more than to touch every inch of his beautiful body. But then I see the wound on his right shoulder and am instantly sobered from my lustful thoughts.

"Um, please sit down," I say, pulling out the chair to the vanity. He takes a seat, peering at the wound on his shoulder.

"It hasn't closed up much, so you should be able to pick the pieces out."

I blanch and pick up a long pair of tweezers. I take a few deep breaths and position them over the wound….and immediately step back. "I don't think I can do this," I say weakly.

"So you'd rather I just contract an infection and die?" Though he says it with a smile, those words gave me a slap of reality. I have to be strong now.

Ignoring the wave of nausea that washes over me, I examine his wound intently. The morning light catches a small shard of metal buried in his skin. Very carefully, I pick it out, placing it on the vanity. I use the tweezers to poke around gently, looking for more shards. I gag slightly as fresh blood seeps up onto my fingers. Kartik laughs, seemingly unbothered by his bleeding wound.

"Your expression is priceless, Gem."

My heart softens at the nickname. Suddenly the blood on my fingers doesn't matter anymore. A smile stays plastered on my face as I hunt for more shards. I pick two more tiny ones out and declare him bullet free. Under his instruction, I clean the cut with antiseptic and bandage him up.

"Thank you, miss," he says, rotating his shoulder.

"You're quite welcome, monsieur," I say, kissing his cheek. His damp hair tickles my face.

"Look at us," he says, turning my head to look at our reflections in the mirror. "Do you ever get a sense of déjà vu?"

"What do you mean?" the girl in the mirror says. Her hair tumbles loosely over his shoulder as she leans over him. He keeps his eyes glued on the mirror, and brings his hand to her, my, cheek.

"I feel like I've known you my whole life," he admits, nuzzling his head into my neck. I let my hand lightly trail over his shoulders. The skin is smooth and unblemished except for one place, between his shoulder blades.

"What's this?" I ask, examining the marking on his back. It was a simple design, like a triangle with no bottom line, etched into his skin with black ink.

"Just something I got in the Rakshana. It's the blade, the symbol for masculinity."

Unintentionally, I let out a snort of laughter. Kartik looks taken aback.

"What is so funny?"

"Isn't that just like the Rakshana to advertise their _manliness_, by slapping a tattoo on all their members?"

Kartik doesn't smile. "I was the only one that had it."

"Oh," I say, feeling foolish. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"I know," he says. His eyes develop a faraway look as he gazes into the mirror. "You didn't."

I trace the lines of his marking, a wave of familiarity coming over me. Snippets of dreams, or perhaps memories, flash before my eyes. The marking between his shoulder blades is not something I have ever seen before. So why is it that I have already known of it?

"Alexios," I whisper, brushing my fingers in a caress up his neck. In the mirror, Kartik's reflection frowns.

"What did you say?" I gaze for a moment at his face. It would be so perfectly obvious if it was actually Kartik. _Too _perfect. Besides, I've decided against that theory. No goddess, no dignitary, just Gemma and her forbidden Indian love affair. I shiver slightly with delight. It feels so deliciously naughty to have a good secret among all the bad.

"Nothing," I say brightly. I touch the place between his shoulders again and am hit with an incredible sense of longing. Without warning, I collapse into his lap in a desperate embrace. "I miss you," I whisper, wondering what has taken control of my body and tongue.

He laughs softly. "But I'm right here. How can you miss me?" I shake my head and hold him tighter.

"I don't know." The feeling of nostalgia passes and I push away, feeling absolutely ridiculous for my outburst. "Sorry," I mumble in apology. Kartik doesn't look like he really minds. He stands up and grabs me around my waist.

"I miss you too," he says. "I especially miss this." He presses his slightly parted lips to mine. I'm overcome with the incredible _essence _of him, for kissing him isn't simple, it's an experience. Senses overwhelmed, lightheaded, I am the only girl in the world sort of feeling. Everything about him seems to have been tailored to my specifications, the heat of his body, the wetness of his mouth, the scent of him…

I'm hungry. He has been feeding me hors d'oeuvres for days, but I'm hungry for the main course. Kartik doesn't care if I don't have the delicate appetite I am supposed to; he is just as starved as I. His hand drifts up my thigh and I break away with a slight yelp. It's too soon, especially after what Simon did to me. He stares as if he accidentally broke me.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I can't."

"No, it's alright. I overstepped my boundaries." He looks side to side, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He spies his discarded shirt and lunges for it, pulling it over his head. He inches towards the door.

"You don't have to go," I offer.

"I probably should. We both need rest."

I nod. "You're right," I say rather formally. "Good er, night to you then." Good night? It's morning. How stupid of me. He smiles.

"Same to you, Gemma." He closes the door and I fall into bed with a sigh. I fear things will always end up estranged between us. In the room next to me, I can just barely hear him getting ready to go to sleep. It appears his bed is against the same wall mine is. The thought is nearly too romantic to bear.

Tentatively, I reach over and tap the wall with my fingernail, hoping he hears. For a moment I hear nothing. Disappointed, I shimmy under my covers and bury my head into the soft feathery pillow. And then…I hear it, a near inaudible tap. Though no one is present to see, I still hide my smile from the world.

* * *

"You're being sloppy, Simon."

Simon stares at the woman before him as she straightens her wool jacket and brushes off her skirt. His face is pale and his hands clammy. The woman nudges the body of the dead maid with the toe of her boot.

"A worthy sacrifice, but not the right one. Tell me, Simon, what _is _going on in that head of yours? Do you think this is a game?"

He opens his mouth and closes it, knowing there is no voice at the ready to answer for him. He watches as the woman fixes her hair in the mirror.

"First, you were supposed to poison her. How difficult could that be? You let that Rakshana reject interfere and she recovered. Strike one."

Simon lowers his head, ashamed, but not because he failed to kill Gemma. He finally realizes the mess he got himself into.

"Then you successfully capture her and have every chance to make it quick and painless. Instead, you decide to indulge yourself in her body. Strike two." Her eyes glint. "Did you forget I had possession of the girl?"

Simon still says nothing. He had forgotten that Circe had found a way into Gemma's conscious. He was supposed to kill Gemma so that Circe could make it back into this world. Gemma's death would mean the dispersion of the magic once more in the realms, and the chance for Circe to rebind it in her favor. Instead, Circe intervened when Simon decided to do things on his own agenda, and she demanded that he kill her immediately. Terrified, Simon let Gemma free, setting her up to make her think that she had murdered him, so perhaps Circe would think so as well and leave him alone.

"Luckily, this one came along, and you thought it best to kill her."

Simon looks down at Emily's lifeless body. He feels bad, killing her on a maniacal impulse like that. Something in his head at that moment had justified it, but now he mourns for her and his innocence. He is a murderer now.

"But a sacrifice is a sacrifice, and here I am," Circe says. "For all your mistakes, I still thank you."

He frowns, struggling to remember how he involved himself with such a monster. He had been approached by a man named Fowlson, who offered him a place in the elite brotherhood of the Rakshana for his services. The mission was clear – seduce Gemma and coax her to somehow rebind the magic in favor of the Rakshana. If he succeeded, he'd have all the power and glory he could ever want, not to mention the girl of his dreams.

He hadn't even began his mission before he was approached by another, this woman Circe, while he was sleeping. She fed him promises of even more power and glory, and showed him the realms he could rule over, with Gemma at his side. All he had to do was kill her. He woke up with a new aim, though in hindsight, he wonders how he never questioned the ludicrousness of it all.

The woman laughs harshly, feeling his thoughts. "Yes, I was in your brain as well. You'd be surprised to know how incredibly easy you are to control."

Simon's eyes drift to the door, his head feeling heavy and polluted. Perhaps an exorcism would rid him of this filth?

"No, no," the woman says, her felt hat giving her the deceptive air of normalcy. "I'm here to stay. Now, let's get down to business. There is something I need you to retrieve."

**Ooh, I wonder what he has to retrieve! **

**See, I didn't make Simon as one-sided as you all thought. I think this is my best written chapter so far. I tried to explain a lot of open ended things, so let me know if anyone is still confused. Obviously, some things are still up in the air, but give it time. **

**I always thought that Felicity and Kartik would be competitive with each other. Both of them want to be her first in command, so naturally they sort of hate each other. But hey, maybe they'll be friends! (yeah, right... xD)**

**Wishes she could play doctor with Kartik,  
LunaEquus **


	13. Chapter 11

**I know I changed tense, but it's easier to get into Kartik's head in the present. If you hadn't noticed before, Gemma had always been in present tense, while Kartik was recapping. I had originally intended the changing tenses to create a rhythm, sort of like iambic pentameter, when there's a short and then a long. Gemma's POV told a specific thing in more detail, while Kartik told more of the plot with less detail. But I figured it'd be more in character to just write Kartik's thoughts as they happen. Makes him seem more...himself, I guess. ENJOY!**

Sometimes it's just better to be alone. When you're without the company of others, you are safe. No one can judge you or punish you, let alone see or hear you. You can be as stoic as you want, or as emotional as you want. In my case, I needed the privacy to finally relive the past few hours. I needed to cry.

I can count the times I've cried since I was six on one hand. When I was first taken, I cried nearly nonstop for days, sometimes sobbing, but mostly that sniffling and tearing mix that children always seen to master. I quickly learned that one just doesn't cry in the Rakshana. Crying meant weakness, and weakness wasn't aloud. I stiffened up and taught myself not to cry. Sometimes I pictured my six-year-old self, locked away crying in a cage somewhere within me, my present self holding the key.

It was an odd feeling, being in the Rakshana. It is a brotherhood, a cult, which raises its members from early childhood for a certain cause. In a sense, I was brainwashed. In hindsight, though, I was lucky, for I had Amar, whom I've always suspected to disagree with many of the rules. He passed that on to me early, so I held on to part of my own beliefs, my own morals. I expect that was what spurred my dismissal. If I had never second guessed the cause, I'd have never betrayed it. But then I'd have only a bit more respect among my brothers, at the expense of good friend's life.

I had always seen tears as weakness, as I was taught to. But then I saw the bravest girl in the world cry in the earliest hours of the most joyful day in the world. When Gemma broke down into tears, I finally realized that sometimes it takes great strength to show your most sensitive side. From that moment on, I saw things differently.

If I had truly locked away a part of me, then that cage must have been the Rakshana, for when I left, I cried. I hadn't even cried at Amar's death; there wasn't enough time. I was never given the chance to let it sink in all at once, so I've suffered that much longer. But when I was kicked out, I cried. I cried for the loss of my only family, my only means to live.

And now…I will the tears to fall, but they won't. My head feels clouded, heavy, _tired._ I roll onto my back with a sigh, wishing I could be just one room over, curled up with my beloved Gemma. _Gemma. _Such an angel she is. Suddenly I realize why the tears won't fall. I close my eyes and imagine myself in bed with her. These feather pillows become her breasts; the sheets become the silk of her night gown. I keep my eyes shut tightly, not wanting the magic to end…

I am dreaming, for I find myself back at 185 Marylebone Road. The house is nearly the same, but it is decorated differently. A scene unfolds before me, tinged sepia like an old photograph. There are two figures seated together on a silk upholstered sofa, talking in hushed, excited whispers. I step closer to hear what they are saying, but I'm struck with surprise at their faces.

Dressed in expensive brocaded silks and satins are Gemma and myself, or individuals that look startlingly like us. The fashions tell me, however, that it was at least 150 years before our time. He wears silk breeches and an elaborately embroidered coat, and she wears a beautiful white dress. I frown; I've seen that dress before.

She bends her head towards him and he kisses her. I look away, feeling as though they should have privacy, even though it is only a dream. They continue their conversation, broken frequently with kisses and caresses, like newlywed lovers, unable to keep their hands off each other. Finally, I gain the courage to step even closer, so that I may hear what they are saying.

"This has gone on for too long," he says, resting his hand on her knee.

"I know. But this is why we are here now," she says, reaching out to smooth down his hair. "We have to restore the ways of old, partly at least. This civil war helps no one."

He closes his eyes against the flutter of kisses she places on his face. I begin to grow impatient, eager to hear what they are talking about without the delay of their loving antics. "I have talked to my priestesses," she continues. "Have you spoken with your men?"

"I have," he says, pausing. "They were not entirely pleased, to be honest. Time without me has emboldened them, I fear." He looks at her sadly. She fusses over him again.

"They will come around, my love," she says, tilting her head to accept a kiss on her neck. She barely glances at the butler placing a tray of tea next to them. However, I can see him reaching into his coat and withdrawing a discreet blade. I cry out in warning, but my voice is not heard by the occupied lovers. It is not until the blade catches the sunlight that my look-alike notices the danger.

"Run, darling!" He pushes her up and towards the stairs. Then the scene starts flying by. I see only a broken jumble of pictures – the butler stabbed by his own knife, my look-alike witnessing the woman in the attic being strangled by a different man, that same knife plunging into the stomach of the man that strangled the woman. The scene slows down once more, but my heartbeat is still quick and painful. I do not wish to see anymore of this.

I can see the man that looks like me mourning, leaning over the woman that looks like Gemma. The scene brings a lump to my throat. He cries freely, heartbroken and devastated at the death of his beloved. He notices a cut on her head created by the struggle. It still bleeds, though her heart no longer pumps the blood along. In a frenzy, he pulls the beautiful dress off of her, careful to not stain it crimson. I get the feeling that it was her favorite, and he feels she would not want it ruined.

"It is too soon, my darling," he whispers to her dead body. "It shouldn't have happened this way." He lies down next to her and takes her hand in his. Sitting up again, he places a final kiss on her cold, parted lips, a single tear sliding down his nose onto hers. "Until next time, my love. I will find you again," he says, fiddling with something in his left hand.

He tilts his head back and drinks from a tiny vial and settles himself against her, where neither of them will move again. His body shudders slightly, and I know he is dead.

I awake with a start, feeling incredibly sad. There is only the muted warm light of sunset that illuminates the room, making it feel eerily like my dream. My heart thuds in my chest still, and my shoulder aches, reminding me of the night before. It all comes back in a rush, all the traumatizing memories and images. Finally, the tears come, forceful and unrelenting.

I cry until I feel waterlogged and exhausted. Sitting up, I switch on the lamp and rub at my eyes. Should I tell Gemma about the dream, or would it just upset her? And what does it _mean _anyway? There are so many bizarre questions that need answering. I wish we didn't have to keep learning things the hard way; I wish someone would just _tell _us. I let my head fall heavily against the headboard, completely forgetting that it might disturb Gemma on the other side. Oh well, if I can't sleep, she shouldn't either.

I smile inwardly at my rude thoughts. Part of me still wants to drive her mad, even though we have so much responsibility on our plates. I do love teasing her so.

There is a soft knock at the door. I slip out of bed and open the door, hardly surprised to see Gemma on the other side. Upon seeing her, I let out a sigh that I had not realized I had been holding. After that wretched dream, I am positively relieved that she is alive and well.

"Oh good, you're awake," she says, still in her nightgown and robe. I run my fingers through my hair, certain I must look a fright after waking up. I close the door behind her and pull her into my arms. "What's this for?" she asks, her voice muffled.

"Do I need a reason?" I ask, releasing her. She doesn't step away. Instead, she looks up, as if realizing something.

"No, I don't suppose you do."

There is a pause, and then we both spring into motion. Our mouths meet in a flurry of kisses, quickly deepening into the most sensual thing I've ever experienced. My knees buckle from the currents of pleasure that shoot through my veins, so I step backwards to balance my weight again. Gemma follows through and trips on something, pushing me onto the bed. For once, her lack of grace is something useful, and not just funny.

I pull her on top of me, her full weight warm and reassuring. She lifts her head, but I bring it back down so that I can lick the smooth surface of her rosy lips.

"Kartik, please," she says. The jittery feeling in my stomach stops as I anticipate her next brush off. She's unknowingly a tease, leaving me high and dry just as she gets me worked up over her. "Oh don't look at me like that!" she exclaims, exasperated. "I need to tell you something."

Gemma sits up just so that she is straddling my waist. She gestures for me to sit up as well, so that our bodies and faces are close. She swings one leg over so that she is merely sitting in my lap, a less promiscuous position. "Kartik, I've been doing a lot of thinking," she says, her face growing thoughtful and serious. "I haven't been able to say something to you, something I know you want to hear. It's not something one just throws around, you know. It's something I can only say if I mean it, and a lot more thought had to go into our…particular situation."

I nod slowly, fighting the urge to just kiss her as she speaks, like the people in my dream did to one another. Gemma continues, her green eyes looking deep into mine. "Saying it would mean losing my place in society, signing off a life of training and expectations. Saying it…well, it's a huge decision."

"You don't have to say it then," I say quickly. She smiles.

"No, I don't have to. You're right. But I've been thinking about it a lot. The prospect of life without the love and shelter of my family is upsetting." She buries her face into my neck. Her shoulders jump slightly as if she is trying to hold in a sob. I rub her back slowly, feeling as if my heart is about to be torn into a thousand pieces. _We have money now!_ I want to scream. _I can take care of you!_

"But, the prospect of life without you is even more terrifying," she whispers.

Wait, what?

"I love you, Kartik."

* * *

Meanwhile, Felicity knocks on her friend's door, wondering if she or her _friend_ would like a bit of supper. There is no answer. She carefully opens the door and sticks her head inside. "Gemma?" she asks softly, certain she'd see her friend's bright red hair on the white pillows. Nothing could wake Gemma up. A train would go through the room and still she'd sleep on.

But Gemma isn't in bed; Felicity can see that right away. She frowns, wondering if perhaps she had went to the bathroom. Shrugging, Felicity shuts the door and walks towards the stairs again. She hesitates at Kartik's door, hearing muffled voices in the room beyond.

She knows she shouldn't eavesdrop, but Felicity is quite curious that Gemma is behind closed doors with a man, an Indian, no less. She places her ear against the door, careful to not make a noise. What she hears makes her jaw drop. _So Gemma loves him? No wonder they sat so close together._ A sudden thought runs through her head, but she shakes it away. _Gemma may be naïve, but she'd never let him take advantage of her._ The distinctive sounds of kissing and who knows what else makes Felicity's pull her head from the door.

She may be nosy, but she at least knows when privacy is needed. _Things _have _changed._ But Felicity isn't so sure what to think of it.

* * *

"Ah, so _this _is what love feels like," I say, feeling a bit giddy and cliché, but happy. I rub Gemma's bare shoulders, marveling at their creamy perfection. We hadn't done anything more than some kissing and harmless groping, but I still feel as if I had just been taken to bed by a goddess. And technically, I had been.

She adjusts the bodice of her nightgown and smiles her beautiful smile. "We should probably get dressed and find Felicity," she says, lifting her hair off her neck. I groan inwardly. That girl is scary.

Gemma laughs as if reading my thoughts. "She's harmless, I promise."

"Sure," I say, rolling out of bed and picking my jacket off the floor. "And so are cobras." I fling my jacket onto the bed. Gemma makes no motion to leave, despite the fact that I'm obviously going to undress. I wonder how long it would take for her to get too flustered to bear it. I wonder if she'd get too flustered at all.

I look at Gemma, but her attention is elsewhere. There is an envelope in her hands.

"What is that?" I ask.

"It was in your coat," she replies. She hands it to me as I sit next to her on the bed. I turn it over, not recognizing the elegant script that bears my name. "Mr. Bristow gave that to you, correct?"

"Yes, he did," I murmur. "It's from my mother." My fingers hesitate at the envelope's opening. For the first time in over thirteen years, I'm being contacted by my mother. I'm not sure how to react.

"Open it," Gemma presses, nudging me with her arm. She is a comfort to me, the only other important woman to ever be in my life. The other – my mother.

Taking a deep breath, I rip open the envelope and pull the parchment out. I'm disappointed to only find three lines written – a date, a time, and an address.

"I wonder what that means," Gemma muses, reading over my shoulder. "That's tomorrow, at the house we stayed in. Do you suppose she just wants to talk to you?"

I shake my head, remembering Charlie's last few words. "She wants to see you as well." I frown, wondering how my mother's visit might complicate things further. How does one act when they are reunited with a long lost parent? Will she still love me? Or is she coming to tell me just how ashamed she is to call me her son after all that I've done? Gemma smiles gently, noticing my dilemma.

"You're so brave."

"I wish."

* * *

On a steamship approaching the white cliffs of Dover, a woman stands on the deck swathed in a beautifully detailed sari. She overlooks the shore of a country she has never been to as if she owns it. This is a woman with power and a great air of mystery. Other residents of the ship gaze at her with curiosity and envy, for she is a vision in gold jewelry and brightly colored silk.

"Royalty," one man says to his wife.

"With no escorts?" his wife responds, sounding shocked. "How scandalous!"

The woman pays them no mind, and instead keeps her eyes trained on her destination. She had never been a fan of traveling by sea, but she'd travel by any means possible for this particular trip.

"My son," she whispers, her fingertips flying to her mouth as if to confirm the truth of her words.

**Sorry if you don't like to think of Kartik crying. I think I justified it though. Let me know if you think it's utter crap! Same with the "I love you" scene. I think it'll always be horribly cliche, but it was necessary, so don't hate! **

**Until next time...  
What do you think Kartik's mommy will say and/or do?  
What DID Simon have to retrieve?  
What was up with Kartik's dream?  
Now that Felicity knows...what will happen?  
When will Kartik stop acting like a baby and start kicking things? (because we all know we want to see him kick things)**

**Hehe...harmless groping. "Kartik?! Why is your hand down my bloomers? I may or may not feel violated now!" "What are you talking about? My two hands are right here" "That's one hand and a glove!" "I am merely appreciating the fine quality of your lacy trousseaus, Gemma." "Oh, alright then, carry on."**

**Everyone needs to read Libba's new LJ entry, but not before they review this fic,  
LunaEquus**

**(Oh, who am I kidding?! Go read her entry and THEN review. Please? Love me? I love you!)  
**


	14. Chapter 12

**Um yes. An update. Enjoy!**

"Felicity." She doesn't turn her fair-haired head towards me. In fact, she doesn't acknowledge me at all. I clear my throat. "_Felicity_," I say with more urgency. Finally, she looks up from her book.

"Oh hello, I've forgotten you were here," she says with malice. I am taken aback by the ice in her strong gaze.

"Don't be silly," I say.

"No one's smiling, are they, Gemma?"

"What is the matter?"

"You're being quite rude, do you know that?"

My mouth hangs open. "_I'm _being rude? _You're _the one ignoring -,"

"Yes Gemma, you're being rude," Felicity says, closing her book with a snap. I notice it is Miss Wilhelmina Wyatt's _A History of Secret Societies_, the book we purchased over Christmastime. I take a seat next to her on the divan, and pick the book from the table.

"Do you remember how exhilarating it was to follow Miss McCleethy through London?" I ask, tracing the typeface stamped on the book's cover. A hint of a smile graces Felicity's lips, but just as quickly, it is gone.

"Yes, but we don't seem to do anything exciting anymore. I thought…"

"What did you think?" I ask quietly, not wanting to stir the angry monster inside of her.

"I thought we were a team in this, Gemma. You, Ann, and I have been through too much already. Things happen, things we can be a part of, but instead you go to _him._"

"But I've come to you now -,"

"No! You've come to me for shelter, not help. You've been here over a day, and still all I know is what you told me when you first arrived," she says, looking wounded. She snatches the book back from me angrily. "You know, I've been reading, trying to find out as much as I can to help, but it's obvious that you just don't want my help, do you?"

"Of course I want your help, Ann's as well," I say, trying to quell her before the fire spreads.

"And have you even written to Ann? Do you know how much pain she is, locked away with her tacky cousins, without a glimpse of any dreams? You know that the realms were the only bit of happiness in her pathetic life!"

With a stab of guilt, I remember the cuts on her wrists and all the tears. I cannot look Felicity in the eye.

"You promised us, Gemma. You promised you'd never leave us behind. You lied to us, your best friends!

"You haven't given me a chance!" I exclaim. "I haven't had time to explain everything to you."

"But you had time to cavort with your Indian friend," she says accusingly. "I heard what you said to him last night," she adds, her voice but a whisper. My stomach grows tight.

"Why do you hate him so?" I asked, my voice growing clipped. The subject of Kartik makes me nervous around Felicity. She turns to me, her eyes sad and painful to look at.

"You care for him more than Ann and me."

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, waving my hand. "It's just…different with him."

"No, it's not. Since he came along, I haven't heard from you, even though I'd have normally been the first you ran to," she says, ripping tiny lines in the pages of the book.

"It's more dangerous now, Felicity. People have been killed! I didn't want to put anyone else in danger," I say.

"That's never stopped you before." Her eyes glow with anger. I falter.

"Things are different now.

"They sure are." Felicity's eyes fill with tears. "Do you know what it's like to lose everything? To be shown the world and have it snatched away from you?" The tears flow freely down her blotchy cheeks.

"Yes, I do, and that's why I am fighting to regain what has been lost!" My voice wavers, and I choke back a sob.

"And what is that?"

"Everything! Our innocence, my mother's memory, all those lost people, corrupted and afraid…" Felicity sobs harder. "Kartik's brother, Bessie and Mae and all those other factory women, Pippa…" That last bit is too much for both of us. We embrace tightly and cry.

"It's too much, Felicity, too much to fight for."

"Then let me help you," she wails.

"Okay," I cry, hugging her tighter.

We weep until we cannot any longer. The silence is broken by the occasional sniff or hiccup. I reach over and take the book back and open up to a random page.

"I never did come up with a better anagram," I whisper.

"Dog Mealy Em," Felicity says, smiling weakly against the tears that still drip down her face.

"Mildrade." We laugh lightly for a moment. "How should we call for Ann?"

Felicity looks down at her small hands. "She is currently residing in London for the season, but it's not as if we can just ask to meet with her. She has people to answer to now."

Someone clears their throat quietly somewhere behind me. Felicity and I turn abruptly and see Kartik standing in the doorway, holding up an opened pocket watch. I nod and hold up one finger to tell him to wait a moment. I turn to Felicity.

"Fee, while I'm out, could you think up a plan to get in touch with Ann?"

"Where are you going?" she asks suspiciously. I fear I will never have her full trust.

"Kartik and I are to meet with someone. We don't know much else," I say, leaving out that we are meeting with his mother. "I promise I will tell you everything when we get back."

"Promise?"

"Yes. Wish us luck!" I stand up and brush my skirts.

"Good luck," she says hollowly. I feel guilty for the second time today. I know how badly she must want to come, but I fear the invitation is extended only to Kartik. I just hope I will not be turned away.

* * *

The parlor is just how we left it the last time, evidence of the struggle strewn across the polished wood floors. A woman sits primly on the divan, dressed in the most elaborately embroidered sari I have ever seen. I can hear Kartik's breath catch in his throat as we stand in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to enter. 

The woman stands and takes in the sight of us for a moment, her hands flying to her mouth as her large dark eyes fill with tears. "My son," she whispers. In a flash, she sweeps over the considerable length of empty space between us and pulls Kartik into an embrace.

Smiling, I take a step backwards to allow for the reunion. Kartik and I hadn't been sure if we were really to meet with his mother, but this has erased all doubts. She is a beautiful woman with startlingly similar features to Kartik. He has his mother's eyes and her lips as well. In fact, had it not been from the worry lines that mar her otherwise smooth skin, she could very well pass for someone much younger, his sister, perhaps.

The woman places kisses all over his cheeks and forehead, and smoothes down his curls with both of her hands. Kartik looks very much like he his about to cry. While heartwarming, the scene tugs the corners of my mouth downwards, for it reminds me so much of my own mother and how much I miss her.

"My baby boy!" she exclaims through tears. She pulls away and grips his upper arms, holding him at arm's length. "You've grown so much I cannot possibly imagine that I used to hold you in my arms. Nearly fourteen years," she says quietly, shaking her head. She touches my shoulder gingerly and smiles warmly. "You look so much like Mary," she murmurs. I blink. She couldn't possibly have known my mother, unless…

Kartik catches my eye and gives me a bewildered look. I smile encouragingly. He may be quite dazed by the sudden assault of motherly affection, but I can tell that it was just what he has needed.

Without a word, Kartik's mother leads us into the parlor and beckons for us to sit. "I do believe there is much for me to explain," she says apologetically. Her voice is beautiful and melodic; I can just picture her singing lullabies to Kartik when he was an infant. "First let me introduce myself. My name is Kashvi. I am a member of the Order."

I gasp. "Yes, I knew your mother," she says as if reading my thoughts. "Such a lovely woman she was. I mourn her loss greatly." She lowers her eyes for a moment, and then fixes them on Kartik. "Forgive me," she says. "I cannot take my eyes of my handsome son."

Kartik blushes, something he does not do very often. He opens his mouth to speak but his mother shushes him.

"Please, let me speak first," she says. Her English is nearly perfect and she stands in such a way that I feel like curtsying to her. She seems to command as much presence as the Queen. "I know everything about what has happened with the Rakshana and the Order. Let me be the first to say that I have come to set things straight. The Rakshana, after all, does owe me a favor."

"What do you mean?" Kartik cuts in. His eyes are as wide as a child's despite his efforts to look professional. Kashvi sighs.

"For centuries, everything between the Order and the Rakshana has been a complete mess. In short, let me say that they are both at fault; neither one of you should be in this position." She reaches over to the coffee table and picks up the book that talked about the Goddess and Dignitary. "You have been reading this, I assume?" She looks at me with her kind brown eyes.

"Yes," I say, lowering my eyes from hers out of respect.

"Darling, look at me." I look up, blushing. "Have you no idea who you really are?"

"Well, I'm Gemma Doyle, and I -,"

"Your memories haven't found you yet?" Her voice is suddenly sharp. I look at Kartik, alarmed. He looks at his mother, his brows knitting together in worry.

"I am sorry," I say awkwardly. "I don't know what you mean." She exhales slowly.

"You didn't believe what you read," she nods to herself. "Understandable, especially with everything going on. Please dear, think very hard. Have you had any sudden thoughts, perhaps in another time with another name?"

I nod slowly. Hypatia and Alexios, the daydreams about myself and Kartik. She smiles widely, reminding me very much of Kartik. "What was your name, dear?"

"Hypatia," I whisper. From the corner of my eye, I can see Kartik staring at me. I never told him about it, for I felt foolish having such fantasies.

"Ah yes, Hypatia, one of the most prominent reincarnations of the Goddess. She ruled during the Rebellion," Kashvi glances at Kartik and I blush. "Alongside Alexios, her lover." Kartik looks at her blankly. She turns back to me. "I assume you saw Alexios in your memories? Was he familiar to you?"

I hesitate. I can feel Kartik's eyes boring into my head. "Yes," I say. "He was quite familiar."

"Why have you never said anything to me?" Kartik whispers to me.

"Because I thought they were just silly daydreams. How was I to know that the book was speaking the truth?"

"Well who was he then?" Kartik asks, his face reddening with anger. I shake my head.

"Kartik." He jumps from hearing his mother speak his name. "Do you mean to say that you do not know?"

"Yes," he says. "I don't." His mother places a hand to her forehead.

"Oh dear. Those men need to be put in line. I cannot believe this." She is silent for a moment, shaking her head. Kartik and I share a look of discomfort.

"Alright my dears let me start from the beginning. Things used to be harmonic between the Order and Rakshana. The High Priestess of the Order and the Grand Master of the Rakshana ruled together over the creatures of the realms and our world as well, yet each ruled separately over their own charges. The gateway between the two worlds once stood open, so that beings of each respective world could venture into both. Most humans did not know of its existence, but the creatures of the realms took full advantage of it, which is why this world is so rich in mythology." She pauses and smiles at us.

"However, many of the creatures enjoyed their power over the humans that the High Priestess and her Order tried to control them within the realms. This angered them greatly, for they did not like their fun to be taken from them. There was one group of creatures from the realms that stayed in our world, warriors under Alexios's control, gathered and mixed with human men of extraordinary talent to create an army used to protect the humans from the creatures that wished to harm them. You may know them as the Poppy Warriors."

I blanch. My hand flies to my stomach. "But they're awful!" I exclaim, thinking of their horrible cathedral and how they tried to trap us there. Kashvi nods sympathetically.

"Not always. They once were extremely loyal to the Dignitary. The Knights of the Poppy stood for the protection and resurrection of their king and queen, which is why the poppy symbolizes death and resurrection. It has long been a custom to offer poppies to the dead, in the hopes they will find their way back to the living."

"Then why have they turned so…evil?" I ask, shuddering. "Evil" doesn't even begin to describe them.

"Because they were allowed to stay in our world, the barrier between worlds wasn't as strong as it should have been. Some of the stronger monsters of the realms broke through. Perhaps you remember the Gorgon? She was among those that slaughtered thousands of humans. In fact, many of the ancient myths were factual.

"Hypatia and Alexios realized they had made a mistake. Shortly before they were murdered during the Rebellion, they managed to force the protesting Poppy Warriors back into the realms and close the barrier to those other than the holder of the key." Kashvi points to my amulet. "That amulet is ancient, created millennia ago and passed down through the highest members of the Order. Only its holder can summon the door of light, and its eternal owner is you."

Before I can respond, she resumes talking. "The murder left the Order and Rakshana leaderless and lost. Hypatia and Alexios were young, and hadn't been able to decide what should happen if they died. Thus, there was conflict and chaos, and the groups became hostile towards each other."

Kartik and I sit at attention, deeply absorbed with what she is saying. I find myself wishing I could speak like her, with such confidence and charisma.

"Since then, the Goddess and Dignitary _have_ been reincarnated, but there are few records of those times, for they had always mysteriously died before either could regain control over their charges. In fact…" She stands and walks across the room, trailing her fingers over various surfaces. "The last time they walked this earth, they lived in this very house."

"Really?" I ask, thoroughly intrigued. I cannot possibly imagine having walked here before, though now I can recall that I did feel oddly at peace in the attic.

"Yes. It was during the late 1600s, during a time of great scientific and philosophical enlightenment. Times were changing, and people were becoming more educated as a whole. It was seemingly the perfect time for structure to be restored to the Order and Rakshana and thus, Hypatia and Alexios were reborn as Aurelia and Alexander. They were raised with their duties in mind, fell in love, married, and moved here to start a family."

"Well that makes sense," I say when Kartik's mother pauses. "I felt something when I was in the attic. It was familiar to me. Calming." I look to Kartik for validation. He shakes his head.

"I hate it up there. It's very…eerie." Kashvi looks at us both in surprise.

"That is very interesting; especially considering Aurelia was murdered in that very attic." My mouth drops open. "And where Alexander committed suicide shortly after he saw the life drain from her body. Perhaps that is why you felt so uncomfortable there, my darling?"

Kartik frowns thoughtfully. "I saw it happen yesterday when I was sleeping. I dreamt it."

"So it will come as no surprise when I say that you are the Dignitary, correct?" Kartik blanches. "Come now, my son, you must have had an inkling. Did you think it was by mere chance that you became the guardian of the high priestess?" She smiles at the two of us. "You are the Goddess and the Dignitary. Eternal lovers. Soul mates. But I doubt you needed someone to tell you that." She smiles knowingly.

"Oh dear, where are my manners? I have tea ready in the other room. I'll be just a moment," she says, jumping from her seat and exiting the room, leaving Kartik and I alone with all this new information. I suspect that was her intention.

"You knew all along," Kartik says, smiling slightly.

"I have," I respond, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. Kartik stares at his hands. "What are you thinking about?"

"The first time I saw you – in the marketplace. When you bit my hand in London…" he says, shaking his head slowly. "I always knew. It's always been you." Without looking up, he extends his hand to me. I place my hand in his and study his face. His eyes close and he runs his thumb over the back of my hand in a gentle caress, as if trying to remember something.

His eyes flutter open and for a moment it's as if I can see straight into his soul, and he through mine. My heart fills with this new emotion, more potent than love, more intoxicating than lust. He dips his head towards me so that his hair brushes my forehead. His lips hover so close to mine that I fear I will die with anticipation. All I've ever known, all I've ever wanted, is right here, mere centimeters away.

With a snap, he pulls back as his mother enters the room, carrying a tea tray. "I do hope you will fond the tea satisfactory," she says, ignoring the wild blushes on our faces. "It's not often that I make my own."

"Thank you," I say, taking the cup she hands me. I take a sip and the fruity, spicy taste instantly reminds me of India. "I haven't had Darjeeling tea in ages. This is wonderful." Kashvi smiles at me, but says nothing.

My eyelids grow heavier by the moment. Next to me, the teacup slips from Kartik's hand and smashes on the floor. "Oh," I say, realizing that something is wrong. I feel drugged and sleepy. I shakily place the cup on the table, barely sitting back again before I lose consciousness completely.

**Ooh cliffhanger! Is Kartik's mommy good or bad? I guess you'll just have to wait! Of course, updates do come faster with more reviews, you do realize that, correct? Please tell me what you think of my "history" and whatnot. The whole reincarnation thing - cool or bollocks? I'm trying very hard to tie everything together, as well as make it historically valid. I even looked up 17th century names and their meanings in order to come up with good ones. Aurelia means "golden" and Alexander means "defender". I like putting thought into things, as you can see.**

**I HAVE MY OWN GUITAR HERO! Sadly, I'm also working like a fiend, so forgive me if the updates don't come fast enough. Though reviews definitely help with the burn out, so please remember my sanity and well being as an author and as a human being.**

**Holding out for a hero til the end of the night (preferably named Kartik),  
LunaEquus**

**(PS. Poor Fee...and yes, I'll get back to Simon. I actually like him again so I have to work that back into the fic. Oh, and maybe expect crazyPippa!doll soon)**


	15. Chapter 13

**Huzzah! Another chapeeturr!**_  
_

_Hypatia lounges on a pile of cushions in our private garden, eating grapes lazily and twirling a lock of her hair round her finger. My heart mourns for her in these last moments of innocence. _

"_You don't need to stand there, my love. Come lay with me."_

_I long to just lay my head in her lap like always, but now is not the time. She looks up when I do not respond, her green eyes glittering in the sunlight. A cloud passes over the sun, just as one passes over her face. She knows something is wrong._

"_Alexios. What is it?" She stands from her nest of pillows, shaking loose her hair. I fall to my knees at her feet out of reverence and shame. I have failed her._

"_A tragedy has occurred. I fear my men are at fault." She drops to her knees in front of me and takes hold of my shoulders. _

"_But they have been locked away in the realms. What could have happened?" _

_I cannot look at her. "They have banded together against us."_

"_But perhaps we can win them back…" I look up and find her eyes. She is struck silent. _

"_They've made it clear that they wish for no more negotiations. Your priestesses…" Her brilliant eyes fill with tears so that I cannot finish speaking. _

"_Alexios!" Her voice is shaky. "Please tell me my priestesses are alright!" Her hands grip my shoulders tightly._

"_Several of your initiates have been taken to the Winterlands," I whisper. She stands suddenly._

"_Then I must go find them!" _

"_No," I say, remaining on the ground. "You cannot go." She looks down at me and grabs my hand._

"_What is wrong? We must save them! Oh!" She drops my hand and looks at her own in horror. I hold up her amulet, slick with blood._

"_There is nothing to save. They have been slaughtered."_

_She falls to her knees with a heartbreaking wail. "But how do you know this?" She rubs frantically at the blood on her hands. _

"_Azreal," I say sadly. "He has taken over the Knights." Hypatia stares at me, her beautiful face stained with tears._

"_We must bind the magic then. If they cannot respect our decisions then they deserve no part of it."_

_I nod wearily and let my head fall onto her shoulder. "I am so sorry, Hypatia." She buries her face into my hair, crying softly._

"_I know."_

* * *

"_We've done it; the magic is bound," Hypatia says quietly, wiping a slight sheen of sweat from her smooth forehead. I smile at her, ever impressed with her powers. "Now the magic is only available to those worthy of it."_

_I tilt my head and examine the tall crystals jutting from the ground. They hum as if beckoning me to touch them. "Perhaps to be safe, we should add a warning to those that wish to wield the magic, so that they don't make the same mistakes that we did," I say. _

"_What should we say?"_

"_Allow me." I kneel at the base of one of the crystals and move my finger as if writing with it. "I change the world; the world changes me," I say, writing in the sacred language of old. Hypatia throws her arms around me and places a barrage of kisses on my face._

"_Perfect! I was thinking the same thing." I push her back onto the grass and climb on top of her, returning her kisses._

"_I believe there is one thing missing, though." She laughs as I start undressing her. "We should christen this holy monument, don't you think?" The magic thrums through my veins as I pull off my own clothing and press myself against her._

"_Oh Alexios," she murmurs into my mouth. "Maybe things will be okay after all." I place my finger to her lips and kiss her neck, flicking my tongue against her frenzied pulse. We disappear for a few hours in a whirlwind of moans and sighs, loving each other as best we can._

_It is getting late as we dress ourselves again, though the perpetual sunset reveals no time at all. We are happy and sated, but the feeling quickly passes. _

"_What is this?" Azreal steps into view. I grab Hypatia's hand, but she is not afraid._

"_We have bound the magic," she says, staring him down determinedly. Azreal scowls._

"_What for, poppet?"_

"Don't _call her poppet, Azreal," I interject angrily. To my great surprise, he draws a sword and points it at me. Icy fear spreads through my veins; other than magic, Hypatia and I are unarmed. _

"_Alexios," she whispers, her large eyes fixed on the sword's sharp blade._

"_I am no longer content to serve you, poppets." I feel the tug of magic as Hypatia tries to summon the door. "Oh no you don't, pretty queenie." Azreal snaps his fingers and a dozen more of my former warriors step around us._

_Hypatia's eyes find mine and I am instantly filled with foreboding. Without so much as a warning, Azreal plunges the sword into my stomach. Red hot pain seers through my body, but it is nearly bearable compared with Hypatia's screams. I fall to the ground, but I do not feel the impact. _

_Against the bright sky, I see the Poppy Warriors turn on my beloved. They hold her by the hair and stab her once, twice, three times until she falls next to me, lifeless. How can this be? Just moments before we had been rolling on this spot of grass, making love and whispering about our future together. And now…_

_Azreal stands above me, blurry to my failing vision. Weakly, I hold out my hand. "I damn you to your cathedral," I say with as much strength as I can muster. "In the name of my goddess I condemn you!" He howls with rage and thrusts the sword into my throat until the life drains from me._

* * *

_I have opened my eyes to this world a few times since then, never understanding life beyond childhood. It was always a different reason that I closed my eyes again, sometimes mysterious illness, a few times kidnapped and slaughtered. It was the most difficult time, for I had never even had the chance to gaze upon my beloved Hypatia. It wasn't even as if I'd have known her, for I was not raised the way tradition dictated. _

_Finally, fate smiled upon us. We were born and raised in the English countryside, married and moved to London. We were happy as can be, given the chance to finally restore long lost order within our groups, and also the chance to start a family. Things were going so well with the former that we began working on the latter. _

_Night after night we made use of our marriage bed, remembering everything we have missed, and striving for what was to come. It wasn't long before Aurelia became pregnant. Our second mistake. We let our guards down, even though we knew better. Once again, our lives were taken prematurely, as well as the life of our unborn child. _

_It has all been too painful to me. There have been so many disappointments, and for what? - To just die again in the arms of my already deceased lover. It is not she who keeps me from opening my eyes, but the fear that once I close them I will never see her again._

_And yet, I am being beckoned to awaken with the taste of poppy on my mortal tongue. It reminds me of better times and of betrayal, but it stands for something else I cannot control. Poppies signify the appropriate time to open my eyes to the world. I can only hope that this time will be better._

* * *

I try to sit up, but a pressure on my forehead holds me down. My eyes snap open and the room spins around me until I must close them again. 

"Easy there, Kartik, darling, just rest for a moment," an unfamiliar voice says. _Kartik? Who is Kartik? _

"Will he be alright?" another voice asks. This one is familiar to me. Could it be?

I try once more to sit up, this time the person holding me down releases me. I open my eyes to find that I am in my old house, but I barely let it sink in, for next to me is…

"You," I say breathlessly. I reach out and touch her cheek gingerly. She beams at me and my heart soars. _Finally._

"Oh Kartik will be quite alright." I look at the speaker. At first, she is unfamiliar to me, but then I realize that she is my mother in this time.

"That's right," I say slowly, absorbing the information. "My name is Kartik now." I shake my head. "What happened?"

"Forgive me," my mother says. "I put poppy seed oil in your tea. It was really time for you both to wake up. Miss Doyle woke up faster than you, for she had already been doing so on her own."

"Miss Doyle…" I say, fixing my eyes on her. "Gemma." I grin widely. "Oh, this is fun." I want nothing more than to carry her upstairs to the bedroom we once shared and get to know her all over again.

"Now I know that certain reunions are much desired, but unfortunately they will have to wait," my mother says, as if she could read my mind. My cheeks redden considerably. "Like I previously said, the Rakshana owes me a favor. It's time for you to take your rightful place. You will come with me today."

"Alright," I say hesitantly. "Do you really think the Rakshana will take me back?"

My mother chuckles and I feel a stab of nostalgia from times when I was younger. "Darling, you _are _the Rakshana. They are nothing but fakes without you."

My heart lightens considerably from the temporary ego boost. Next to me, Gemma frowns thoughtfully. "And what of the Order? The only members I have met thus far have tried to get me to block out the Rakshana completely, except for you of course."

"Who have you met with?"

"Circe and Miss McCleethy," Gemma says. "My mistake – Sahirah Foster."

My mother shakes her head. "Sahirah Foster considered herself to be the Order's next best thing other than you. Her ideas were ludicrous, to say the least." She looks at Gemma tenderly. "Your mother and I were among the few loyal to the Goddess and Dignitary; you have no reason to distrust me."

"I do trust you," Gemma says quietly. "I am just…"

"Overwhelmed?" I cut in. She smiles weakly.

"Quite so."

"And that is perfectly natural, given the situation," my mother says. "But as we are in no immediate danger, I think it's safe to say that – what?" She frowns as we exchange an uncomfortable glance.

"We believe there _is _immediate danger," Gemma says.

Concern fills my mother's face. "Please elaborate." She listens patiently as we tell her about the possessed doll, Circe, and the dreams in the Winterlands. When Gemma finishes explaining her suspicions about Simon Middleton, my mother stands suddenly, her eyes flashing.

"Circe is behind this," she says, talking hurriedly. The effect is chilling, as she seems to be a very composed woman. "You trapped Circe in the Temple, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, did you have any peculiar visions or dreams about her, other than the one of your friend Pippa?"

With a sharp intake of breath I remember the dream that initially had Gemma crying in my arms. Gemma replays the dream for her and my mother closes her eyes as if in pain.

"Well, that is how she made it out of the Temple. I am nearly certain that this Simon Middleton's death, or faked death, has something to do with Circe. I will make inquiries." She begins talking softly, as if to herself. "In the meantime, you must both stay somewhere safe, not together, of course, no, that won't do -,"

"Excuse me Mother, may I ask why?"

"Because I'm your mother and I said so."

"Well that doesn't seem very fair."

She fixes me with a stern look. "It is not appropriate for a young man and a young lady to live together without first being married. You may be eternal beings with infinite power, but you still have to play by the rules of your time. Understood?"

Gemma and I nod obediently. She looks at me sheepishly and I stifle a laugh. My mother looks at us and furrows her brows.

"Well for now, Kartik, you will come with me."

Gemma looks at me as if to say "what about me?" I open my mouth to speak, but my mother beats me to it.

"For now, you will have to just stay where you are, dear, only for a few days."

"But what if I need to contact you? Where will I find you?"

She is silent for a moment. "Open your mind to Kartik. He will know if you need him."

"But how -,"

"_Open your mind_, my dear; you'll know how if you need to." Gemma nods in resignation. My mother stands and clasps her hands together. "Kartik, please escort Miss Doyle home and return here. The sooner we sort things out with the Rakshana, the sooner you can be together again."

A tempting thought, though I don't quite want to leave her in the first place. I've rather grown quite used to her company, among other things. Gemma bows her head politely.

"It was a pleasure meeting you…" she trails off, unsure of what to address my mother as.

"Kashvi," my mother says. "And the honor was mine, Most High."

* * *

"This is all so strange," Gemma says once we're back in the safety of my room at Miss Worthington's. She reclines on the bed and watches me as I pack up my various things. "Yet at the same time, it feels completely normal." 

"It's been so long," I muse. "I wish I didn't have to leave you."

"It hardly seems fair…but I suppose I understand the reason for it" Gemma sighs heavily and rests her head on her arm. "Just because we've been together in the past doesn't mean things have changed in the present. We are still not allowed to be together."

I drop my rucksack and lay perpendicular to her on the bed, resting my head on her stomach. The boning of her corset digs into my head and neck painfully. Blasted thing plagued me in our past life as well.

"Do you remember that day when we were having a picnic and it started to rain?" I ask suddenly. "We waited out the storm in a cave because you didn't want to get your dress wet. I couldn't figure out how to undo your corset so I cut it off."

Gemma laughs. "I had forgotten that day! My father was furious; I wasn't allowed to see you until the wedding." We are silent for a bit. I move my head from her stomach to the bed, feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

"I cannot believe we were once married," I say.

"And expecting a child." What goes unsaid speaks volumes – the reason we had failed in the past was because we gave priority to each other and our relationship. The reason we were born into separate places in society this time around becomes clear.

"We aren't supposed to be together," I murmur. "So that we do what we are supposed to do first."

Gemma's fingers curl into my hair. She exhales loudly, but she doesn't say anything.

"No one can tell us what to do, Gem."

"And yet, that's how it is, funnily enough."

I sit up, but just enough so that I can lean over and kiss her. We kiss for a few long moments, both happy for a break from having to speak. Not that we'd know what to say anyway.

"Gemma, I should go." She turns her head and looks away from me. "I will come check on you tomorrow," I say.

"Don't bother," she says. "I'm going home."

"Good," I say after a few moments' shock. "Then I will visit you there."

"I don't want you to go," she says. "After all of this, I just, I want…"

"I know." I pick up my things and head for the door. I look back at her, lying on the bed. It takes all my self control to turn away from her.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

The doll-maker carefully laid the repaired doll into a sturdy white box lined with muslin. He had recast the porcelain and painted her little face with painstaking detail. He considered her to be his best work yet; pity she had to go away. The young man that had commissioned him for the job was very nervous, and quite exact in how he wanted the doll to look. _Must be a new father,_ the doll-maker thought, wrapping the package with care.

* * *

When I return to the house, I find my mother waiting for me outside. I'm still unsure how to handle her existence in my life again; it's all very strange to me. I'm torn between running into her arms and running away from her. 

"So, we are going to the Rakshana?" I ask.

"We will, but first…" She straightens the collar of my shirt. "You will need new clothes. And a haircut." I groan inwardly, but she notices anyway. "Oh let me fuss over you a bit, Kartik. It's been thirteen years that I've had no sons to care for, so just give me this one day.

I nod, wondering if she knows about Amar. The question is out of my mouth before I can worry about sensitivity. My mother's mouth grows tight.

"Yes, I have known. That is precisely why the Rakshana is indebted to me. Amar was never supposed to be taken into the fold, Kartik. They thought he was you, and it wasn't until your birth that they realized their mistake."

"I am sorry," I say awkwardly, looking at my shoes. This whole Dignitary business really causes trouble.

"There is nothing to be sorry for," my mother says. "Amar was proud of who he was anyway, and he died fighting for what is right. He would have told you, Kartik. I know he would have."

My mother's eyes are sad. "So he…knew about who I was? He was loyal to the Order?"

"Yes. He was a double agent. He never liked the gap between the groups."

_Well that explains why he never told me about it then._

My mother brushes nonexistent lint from my shoulder and clears her throat. "Right then," she says. "Let's get you fitted for some new clothes, hm?"

**Aww, you knew Kartik's mommy couldn't be bad! She's too...mom-like.**

**Lots of backstory there. And yes, Gemma is going to go home. And you thought I'd make things easy and just cut her family out, now didn't you! Nope! Her problems are my problems now. Let me know if anything confuses you. Or if I've left things out.  
**

**How's about some crazy!Pippa doll for yah? Yes, that's crazy!Pippa. Doll. crazy!Pippa doll. I think you get it...**

**Who can 5 star select songs on hard? I CAN!!!**

**Who's a bad author for giving priority to video games? (and Harry Potter) I am...**

**Here's to hoping my writing is better than the epilogue of Deathly Hallows,  
LunaEquus**

**(Come on, just the epilogue. It was written like a bad fan fiction. Seriously. The rest was fab though!)**

**REVIEWS ARE LOVELY!!!  
**


	16. Chapter 14

**Another chapter...as I dye my hair purple. Enjoy!**

"I have a surprise for you, Gemma!" Felicity greets me when I finally leave Kartik's room. Well, it is not Kartik's anymore, but it was his room, for a night.

"I do hope it's something edible, preferably doused in chocolate sauce," I say, rubbing my stomach. I haven't eaten in a few hours, and now that Kartik has left, I find my appetite has returned.

"Well, that can be arranged. Of course, you'd have to be a cannibal, but here she is! May I present, Miss Ann Bradshaw?" Felicity thrusts Ann into the room, who smiles sheepishly.

"Hello, Gemma," she says. I rush forward to embrace her tightly.

"Oh Ann, I have missed you so!" Tears sting at my eyes as Felicity joins the embrace, ordering us not to wrinkle her bodice. I haven't realized how much I have missed the comfort of my friends.

We rustle into the sitting room to catch up. Ann looks considerably happier; her complexion and her eyes are clearer, and she appears to have lost some of the roundness of her face.

"Things are going well," she says after I inquire about her life. "I've realized that little George and Abigail are much better company than Cecily and Elizabeth, even if they do fling their food around at supper."

"That would put their manners on par with dear Cecily," Felicity says, her gray eyes glittering. We chuckle lightly at the expense of those wretched girls we left behind at Spence. "That reminds me," Felicity says. "I happened upon Cecily at Lady Tatterhall's tea last Friday. She sported ostrich feathers in her hair. At _tea_!"

"How scandalous," I say, smirking. "And to think I've only spent my past few weeks in the sole company of a young man I am not related to." I carefully note Ann's shocked expression.

"Gemma, you didn't! Who was it? Not Simon Middleton!"

Felicity lets out a bitter laugh. "Simon Middleton? Be realistic, Ann. Why would Lady Denby ever allow it?"

"Then who?"

"Kartik," I say quietly. Ann looks back and forth between Felicity and me, as if expecting us to burst out laughing. "Ready for a tale, Ann? It's not exactly a bedtime story you could share with little George and Abigail, but it is worth the time it takes to tell it."

I sigh heavily, dreading having to recount my story for yet another time. Felicity notices this.

"Why don't I tell it, Gemma? You can just fill in the details."

"Be my guest," I say, grateful for the break. I know how much the center of attention means to Felicity anyway, at least, telling the story will make it appear like she wasn't as left out as she was.

As it happens, I find Felicity's recount to be much more exciting than my own, and I find that I am nearly as riveted as Ann. She peppers the story with soft whispers and dramatic hand motions, and it's nearly as entertaining as watching a pantomime.

"That just about covers it," I say, when she finishes and looks to me for approval. "However, today's events add to the story considerably."

"Ah yes, you met with someone, correct?" Felicity says, glancing at Ann briefly. It has the desired effect on Ann.

"I've missed so much," Ann moans. "You must keep me in the know from now on."

"I _will_," I insist irritably. "Starting now. Kartik and I met with his mother."

"His _mother_?" Felicity interjects. "I didn't know he had a mother."

"How else could he be here then? Of course he has a mother!" I exclaim.

Felicity makes a face. "You know what I meant, Gemma. It's just, well, it makes him seem a little more human, that he has a mother."

"Felicity!" I say, shocked. "How could you ever think of him as anything less?"

She looks down at her lap, her pale cheeks turning pink. "Well, because he was Rakshana. He's different from us."

"Why should being different make him seem any less human?" Ann asks angrily. "We're all human, despite how different we are. No one is less deserving of respect."

"Thank you, Ann," I say softly. Her cheeks blush with pleasure; I suspect a lot of soul searching has consumed her months since graduating Spence. Needless to say, I am proud of her.

Felicity shifts uncomfortably, not used to having Ann act against her. "Perhaps I made an error of judgment," she says haughtily.

"You certainly have," I say, accepting her apology anyway. "Wait until you hear what Kartik really is."

I tell them all that Kashvi told me, about the Goddess and Dignitary, and about the Order and the Rakshana. When I finish, I find my friends to have turned into gaping fish, bulgy eyes and all.

"You are so lucky, Gemma. A goddess…" Felicity says enviously.

"How romantic!" says Ann wistfully.

I laugh bitterly at their reactions. "There is really nothing lucky or romantic about the situation. Did you not hear about how we were murdered many times over the past few centuries? And now we're born into a time when we cannot truly be together, so that we are forced to go about our duty with no distractions. Quite unfair, really."

"So what is it then, you and Kartik have to do everything?" Felicity asks.

"Heavens no!" I say. "I need you both now more than ever." They beam at me.

"So what happens next?" Ann asks.

I tap my fingers against the armrest. "I'm not really sure, but I do know this. Kartik is being inducted back into the Rakshana in a few days time. I can only assume that we will fortify the alliance between us and them. What we need to find out is what Circe is up to, and for that, I think we should take a little trip to the realms."

"While I am all for returning to the realms, Gemma, I may have a better plan of action," Felicity says. She furrows her brows thoughtfully. "I think we should find Simon first, and see if we cannot coax some answers from him."

"That is, if he hasn't left the country," Ann adds. I frown, really not wanting to deal with Simon again, though I know it is inevitable.

"Felicity, could I perhaps count on you to do that?" I ask. "I'd rather not…well because of…" I trail off, but my intentions are clear.

To my surprise, Felicity smiles. "There is a ball to be held this Saturday," she says. "He should be there. If not, I will make inquiries."

I smile warmly. "Thank you," I say gratefully.

Ann clears her throat. "And what shall I do to help?"

I am silent for a moment, thinking of something she could do. Suddenly, it hits me. "You can make a log of everything we know now." She makes a face of disgust. "Please Ann; we need to have a reference, so that we won't forget anything."

She sighs in resignation. "What will you do, Gemma?"

"I must think of an excuse to feed my family as to why I've been gone." Felicity looks up in surprise. "Yes," I say. "I've decided to go home. I do not wish to worry them any further. And…I miss them."

"So then," Felicity pipes up. "We shall meet here in one week's time, provided nothing happens to meet sooner. Then we will go to the realms."

"Yes," I say, smiling at my friends. "We'll go to the realms."

* * *

"Gemma, where on earth have you been?" Tom grabs my upper arms and, thinking better of shaking me, pulls me into a tight embrace. "We've been so worried! I had to tell Grandmama that you had been kidnapped!" 

"Kidnapped, Tom? Didn't you find my letter?"

"Of course I did, but did you honestly expect me to tell Grandmama that you left on your own accord? What were you thinking?"

I've been thinking up an excuse for hours, but looking into my brother's concerned face, I know I cannot lie to him. I never wanted to tell him the truth, never wanted him to know what I really am, what our mother was. But I cannot see it any other way now. The pressing need to confess is suffocating; I want nothing more than to run away, never to return, so that he may be spared of the shame.

"Gemma, what is the matter?" It is only by the concern in his voice that I realize I am crying. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

I shake my head, unable to find my voice. A harsh sob racks my body, but I cannot explain its origin.

Tom takes a good look at me. "You must just be very tired. Run along to bed and I will tell Grandmama that you're alright and that you'll join us for supper."

"No," I say quietly. Tom looks stricken.

"What do you mean _no_? You're hardly in a good condition at the moment. Go to bed, I shall send up tea with Mrs. Jones. Emily has mysteriously disappeared, just like Mr. Kartik had." Tom shakes his head. "I'd thought better of her character though. Servants," he adds disdainfully.

"I mean, no, I am not tired, Tom."

"Well even so, you should rest. I daresay you've been through a lot. I can't imagine why, but I suppose I shall have to grill you later."

Well I can't say I disagree with my brother that I've been through a lot, that's for sure. "Tom," I say. It's now or I'll never again work up the nerve. "There is something I must tell you."

* * *

"Oh don't you look so handsome, my son!" 

Kartik emerges from the barber looking very uncomfortable with his tidier appearance. "Thank you," he says stiffly.

Kashvi cups his cheek in her hand and smiles with tears in her eyes. "You look so much like your father," she says.

"Where is my father now?" Kartik asks, intrigued in knowing about the rest of his family.

Kashvi's smile falls. "Your father and I haven't seen eye to eye for many years, darling. I have not heard from him since the fall of last year. Your birthday, in fact."

Kartik nods absently. Even though members of the Rakshana were discouraged to pay attention to things as insignificant as birthdays and holidays, Amar and Kartik would secretly exchange gifts on their respective birthdays. Kartik had also looked forward to October 18th, for it meant a present for him. The most recent had been a charm blade, one that he had given to Gemma with the best intentions, one that had been lost as he betrayed those he once called family, those he will soon call family again.

"Come," Kashvi says, looping her arm through her son's. "I am certain the alterations should be finished by now. Then you will look presentable enough to face the Rakshana in two days time."

Kartik walks silently in worry. All of a sudden, it's as if the appearance of his mother has sent his life barreling out of control. Nightmares and haunted toys he could deal with, yes, because he at least had control of his own actions. Now it's as if he doesn't have a choice, and while he is grateful for the intervention of someone helpful, he wishes he could at least have his freedom back.

But this is what he's wanted, right? A second chance within the brotherhood that raised him. He'd like it, of course, but on his own accord. He wants to earn it, not be put back in because his mother said so. He sighs heavily, wishing he could run back to Gemma and dangle a spider in her face to make her scream, or curl up next to her with a book they'd take turns reading aloud, or the obvious – take her to bed and whisper memories they've shared and forgotten.

"Is something the matter, Kartik?" Kashvi asks, noticing her son's dramatic release of breath. It was characteristic of him even when he was a child, often used to get his way.

"No, Mother," he says, smiling brightly, his face a mask. "Everything is fine." Of course things are fine now, for the wheels have begun turning in his head. He knows his induction back to the Rakshana is inevitable, but Kartik plans to do so with style, just to prove to them what they've been missing and how much he belongs there.

* * *

"Gemma, you've always had an active imagination, but this just scares me," Tom says, eyeing me fearfully. He places a hand against my forehead to feel for a fever. "Are you sure you're not ill?" 

I swat his hand away irritably. "Tom, as hard to believe as it is, I am not lying or mad."

"Quite right, you're _raving _mad. I've half a mind to secure you a room at Bethlem, but -,"

"But because I'm your sister, you don't want the scandal, isn't that right Tom?" I pick up my suitcase angrily. "I don't understand it, Tom. You cannot be a good brother even when it counts." I run up the stairs, leaving my brother speechless.

Once behind the closed door of my room, I collapse onto my bed. I feel too bitter to even cry. I closely examine my bedspread, seeing Tom's face swimming in the threads. I close my eyes tightly, deeply regretting that I told him, and disgusted with how angry I feel.

I don't know how much time has passed since I left Tom, but I reckon a considerable amount has passed when there is a knock at the door. I do not answer, feigning sleep, but someone walks in anyway and sits on the bed after first closing the door.

"Gemma," Tom whispers, placing a hand on my back. He shakes me gently. "Wake up."

"I am already awake," I grumble, sitting up. I brush the hair from my face and stare sullenly at the Oriental rug covering the floor, wishing I could lose myself in the twisting designs.

He takes a deep breath. "There's always been something special about you, Gemma. I suppose I only attributed it to the fact that I am a proud older brother that once thought your every hiccup was brilliant." He fiddles with the bedspread, tugging at a loose thread. "What I'm trying to say is that, well, I may not understand it, but I believe you."

"Do you mean that?" I ask, my heart lightening with every syllable.

"Either that or you'll turn me into a frog, right? And as long as you send a beautiful, rich princess my way to kiss me and turn me back, I'm sure I'll be okay." He grins sheepishly.

"Oh Tom!" I hug him tightly, my eyes wet with tears of relief. "This means the world to have you on my side!"

He tightens his arms around me. "Yes, well I'll never fully trust this Kartik fellow, ally or not, there's still something I don't like about him."

I roll my eyes. If only Tom knew who Kartik _really _is in my life. However, I somehow think that'd make the situation worse.

* * *

On the cobblestone streets of Pall Mall Square walks a tall woman in a burgundy cloak. Passersby give her a wide berth as they walk past her, unknowingly doing so. She walks determinedly towards her destination, the apartment she inhabited on Baker Street before the chit trapped her in the well. 

'_Well, I'm back,_' she thinks as she walks. _'Shouldn't be much longer now.'_

* * *

"Gemma dear, don't slouch." 

I have not been home from my "kidnapping" for more than a few hours and already Grandmama picks up her vicious nagging with vigor. The entire subject of my disappearance was swept under the table once she realized I was whole and that the family's reputation was not compromised. I'm so happy to know that my wellbeing was taken into account.

Ah yes that's right, it wasn't.

I pick up my needlepoint after supper from the place I had left it weeks ago. It is relaxing to be able to devote my attention to something so mindless and soothing, though it does little to slow the torrents of thoughts rushing about, clamoring for attention. Luckily, the "what have I gotten myself in to" is quickly knocked out of the way by "what color shall I make this bird" and "I wonder how I can get the cook to sneak me an extra helping of pudding".

"Ah yes Gemma, something came for you today," my grandmother says, breaking the silence.

"Oh?" My heartbeat quickens. Though not many knew I was gone, it seems odd that something would arrive the very day I came back.

"Yes. From Simon Middleton." Grandmama gives me a knowing little smile. Ironic, considering she doesn't _know _anything. She produces a box of considerable size, tied in purple ribbon. Inside, there is a gold stamped card, emblazoned with Westminster Doll Makers.

Gasping, I set the box aside. Grandmama frowns and takes it into her hands.

"Gemma, whatever is wrong? You do not wish to open your gift?"

"No, Grandmama, I simply saw the card and was overcome with myself. Mr. Middleton is truly generous to have thought of me." I nearly choke on my words, but my grandmother seems satisfied.

"He certainly is persistent, Gemma. I cannot grasp how you cannot give him a chance. Oh my, how lovely!"

I watch in horror as Grandmama lifts a doll from its box, complete with ebony ringlets and violet eyes.

Pippa is back.

**Ooh crazy!Pippa doll returns! Betcha didn't see the whole Tom thing coming! In case you're wondering, I had mentioned in an earlier chapter that Mr. Doyle is in a sanatorium, like he is in the Sweet Far Thing teaser. Also something I took from the teaser are the names of Ann's cousins, but I do realize they are different names in Rebel Angels. So I am technically not wrong.**

**So, this fic is really, ahem, OUT THERE, isn't it? I have made it canon though, and that's what counts. I didn't want to risk overlapping with anyone else's story lines. Opinions on including the girls and Tom? Hate me for it? Or is it refreshing? No, Tom will never find out about "Karma" and no, Gemma did not indulge him in the whole Goddess/Dignitary thing (OR the Simon thing). I think Tom's head would explode.**

**So I'm gonna go dye my hair now,  
LunaEquus**

**Reviews keep the dye from staining my bathroom. And failing to review makes my Scrubbing Bubbles disappear. HOT ZOMBIES.  
**


	17. Chapter 15

**You guys are SO COOL for reviewing! SO INCREDIBLY COOL!**

I cannot help but feel nostalgic as I climb in through Gemma's window late at night. I can feel it will be something I will always remember, one of those things that defines this lifetime and our relationship. I can remember doing similar things two hundred years ago, but when we lived in the time of the gods, it was Hypatia that always managed to sneak out and get me in trouble when we were growing up, for I was the one in the schoolroom, not her.

I wish I can say that the first thing I see is Gemma, with open arms and a loving smile and preferably not wearing a stitch of clothing. One is never so lucky. Instead my eyes are drawn to something I had never expected to see again, especially not in one piece.

And then my eyes land on Gemma. No greetings are exchanged. Instead, she gestures towards the porcelain doll as if to say, "Guess who's back?" I can practically hear her voice dripping with sarcasm.

I glance at her uncertainly. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday," she responds in a clipped voice. She folds her arms over her chest, unfortunately still clad in her blue evening dress.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I think you might've guessed by now that I cannot exactly grasp the whole "opening and closing" of my mind thing. I would've told you, if I had the means to."

I look at the doll, propped on Gemma's dresser as if this was the room of a child and not a young lady. The doll's violet eyes hold the same eerie glare they held before I smashed her head into a thousand pieces.

"How…" I trail off, unsure of how to word my question properly.

"How is she in one piece? How did she get here?"

"Yes."

"Simon sent her." Gemma holds my gaze with her piercing green eyes. I can tell by the darkness of the delicate skin under her eyes that she has not slept well. I sink onto the bed next to her.

"So he is alive then," I say flatly. Gemma sighs heavily. "Just say the word and I'll kill him," I tell her, only half joking.

"Don't be silly," she says. "You're not a killer."

We fall into silence and watch the doll closely, as if we expect it to move. While it is nice to be with Gemma, these awkward stretches of no speaking aren't so desirable.

"Forgive me," she says as if reading my mind. "My mind has been elsewhere. I…" Gemma's fingers twitch in her lap. "There is something connecting all of this; I can feel it. But what it is, I don't know. I'm not sure if I want to know," she confesses, looking down at her hands.

"Well let's look at the facts," I say. "Have you anything to write on?"

"Of course." She springs from the bed and pulls a few sheets of parchment from her desk and sets out an inkwell and fountain pen.

"Thank you," I say politely, taking a seat. I cannot understand the air of formality, and it drives me mad. I had come in the hopes of perhaps romance first, talking later. It shames me to admit so, but I have my inexperience and overactive libido to blame for that.

I dip the pen into the ink and poise it over the paper, waiting for Gemma to dictate what we know now. Instead, her hand runs through my hair, startling me into shaking the ink from the pen. Black drops splatter over the parchment and surrounding desk.

"You've had your hair cut," she says, not noticing the mess.

"Ahm, yes, I have," I say distractedly, mopping up the ink and pulling out a fresh piece. Gemma continues to stroke my hair, and while it feels good, it feels _too _good. "Gemma, please," I murmur without thinking how it might sound.

"Kartik, _please_," she responds, mocking me. "It's harmless."

"Harmless?" I say with a laugh. The chair scrapes the floor as I stand up. "Have a seat, Gemma."

She sits down primly. I let my fingers run over the waves of her golden red curls. "Harmless," she says, smiling triumphantly.

"I've only just begun." I pull the pins from her hair and set them carefully on the desk. She shivers slightly as I reach under her hair and rub her neck softly. My lips follow, starting at her neck and ending at her freckled shoulder, blissfully exposed by the cut of her gown. "Nothing?" I murmur, biting her skin just barely.

Her response is delayed, and when it comes, she is breathless. "Nothing."

"I see." She rolls her head back and I kiss her lips, parting them with my tongue, while I unbutton the back of her dress.

Gemma pulls away just slightly. "Kartik, perhaps we shouldn't…after all."

"So you see my point?" I do not hear her answer. My eyes have found the neckline of her gown, which has dropped a bit from the undone buttons. It is loose enough that I can see a hint of her chemise, open enough to admit the entry of my one hand. Do I dare?

As swiftly as possible I slip my hand into her bodice and by the feels of it, into her chemise as well. Never have I ever felt skin so soft, so…supple, but it is only a brief moment this registers, for Gemma realizes what I have done and is hitting me over the head for it.

"Kartik!" she gasps, her face blotchy. "How dare you?!" I duck sharply to avoid the corner of the parchment stack she wields as a weapon from hitting me in the eye.

"Gemma," I say, holding my hands up in surrender. "I meant no harm, I swear it."

For a moment I think she is going to resume hitting me, but she places the paper back upon the desk and lets out a soft laugh. "Yes, I see your point now."

I smirk and reach around to button her dress again. She takes a seat on the padded bench at the foot of her bed while I return to the desk chair. "Where to begin?" I ask.

"I wonder if Circe really has found a way back to this world. It would be my fault if she did," Gemma says.

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, writing Circe's name atop the parchment. "How could it possibly be your fault?"

"I dreamt that I helped her out of the well. If she had found a way from the Temple, then she would be free to use the magic in the realms."

I frown. "But you bound the magic to yourself Gemma; you're the only one who can wield it."

Her silence makes me turn around. She bites her lip. "Kartik, that is not the only magic in the realms."

"I don't understand."

"Surely you must know…considering your brother, I mean…"

Unintentionally, my hand falls heavily onto the desk, rattling the inkbottles and knocking over a picture of Gemma and her brother as children. "What about Amar?" My breath hitches in my throat, making my voice sound oddly hushed.

Gemma looks away. "Sacrifices to the Winterlands grants power to the murderer. Unfortunately, you know your brother was one of those murders."

"But -,"

"Even if he didn't grant Circe power, he was still taken directly to the Winterlands by her tracker. Chances are-,"

"Don't," I warn. "I don't want to hear it."

She nods uncertainly. I turn back to write what she told me about the "other magic" in the realms. My brother's fate aside, it is very disturbing knowledge. As I write, something crosses my mind.

"So if what you said was true, Circe would need to make a sacrifice in order to gain enough power to make it back to this world."

"It would seem so," Gemma says slowly.

"Have you any inkling if she's murdered anyone lately?"

"No," she says. "Wait… My brother told me that Emily has gone missing."

"But Emily was working with Simon."

"Exactly. And Circe was working through Simon."

"Circe needed someone to do the dirty work for her," I say, taking in the information.

"Simon must have killed Emily then," Gemma says.

"We're jumping to conclusions, Gemma. We don't know this for sure."

She sighs. "But we know that Emily is missing and Simon is not. I doubt he'd keep her in his house with him. Lady Denby would never allow it. And since he sent me the doll, we know that he is home."

"And what about the doll?" I ask. "Why would Miss Cross try to contact you like this? Why as a doll?"

"Pippa thrived on romantic metaphors. 'Porcelain doll' was a comparison she got all too often," Gemma says. "She probably thought it'd be delightful irony. Especially since, well, you've seen what she looks like now."

I nod, recalling her monstrous appearance. "I don't understand how she made it to this world, if only in spirit. How can she possess a magic that Circe can only attain through killing?"

"I don't think she does." Gemma drops her head into her hands. "Forgive me; I've a headache from all this thinking."

"Perhaps you should get to bed then," I say. "It's late."

She shakes her head and winces. "I don't want you to go," she whispers.

I stand up and offer her my hand. "Then you should at least lie down." She takes my hand and I lead her to the bed, sliding on top of the covers next to her. "Feel better?" I whisper, draping my arm over her waist.

"I can't stop thinking about the attic at home," she murmurs.

"The attic here?"

"Home." Her eyes flutter open and she frowns. "Marylebone Road. I cannot believe I just referred to it as home."

"It was once," I say, letting my forehead rest gently against hers. A jolt of pain seems to resound between my temples. I pull away sharply, but she doesn't notice. "What about the attic?" I reach up and touch my head gingerly. What was that?

"There was something about it." Gemma closes her eyes in pain.

"We both died there."

"It's…more than that. Something magical. I think…oh," Gemma's hand flies to her head. "It's getting worse," she whimpers. "Kartik, help."

I sit up and look around. "I don't know what to do. Shall I fetch someone?" A ridiculous thought. How would I explain myself?

"She's angry," Gemma cries. "Get her out!"

"Who?"

"Pippa!"

"Oh right, of course." I feel stupid. Without thinking clearly, I throw her out the window, where she lands in the rose bushes below.

"What the devil-?" Gemma sits up, shaking her head.

"How do you feel?" I ask worriedly.

"I'm…fine," she says. "I wonder what happened? I was just thinking of when I first saw her, and all of a sudden my head starts pounding like mad."

"She doesn't want you to know something," I say.

"Then perhaps my instincts are correct," Gemma says, resting her hand on her forehead as she reclines once more, looking very much the woman in operas that dies a dramatic death by consumption. I stifle a laugh at the thought. Death would have to take Gemma kicking and screaming.

"Are you laughing at me?" Gemma eyes me disdainfully.

"Err, no," I say. "What are your instincts then?"

"I was merely thinking that somehow the veil between the two worlds is weakened there. Perhaps, when we…died something happened."

"Perhaps," I say. "But that's enough of that for tonight. Before I leave, there is something else I wish to discuss with you."

She pouts. "Can it wait?"

"You'd rather me leave now?"

"No, I just want…how is your mother?" she asks sheepishly.

"She is fine. Treating me like a child, but fine."

Gemma raises her eyebrows. "So now you know how I feel, fussed over every waking moment. Exhausting, isn't it?"

"It isn't just that," I confess, feeling guilty for speaking ill of my mother. "I am grateful, truly, but I feel as if she is…too controlling."

"I think she's lovely," Gemma says with a sigh.

"She doesn't want me seeing you!" I blurt out.

Gemma's face darkens. "Why not?"

"She implies that we're going to just mess everything up again if we're together. She doesn't even know I'm here now. I snuck out."

Gemma pulls my head onto her lap in a way that would seem spiteful if my mother was present. "Why is she so certain we'll mess everything up? Aren't we supposed to be these all-powerful leaders? What a farce; we can't even handle a haunted doll."

"Tomorrow I am to meet with the Rakshana," I murmur. Gemma strokes my face and neck as if she has never felt skin before. It's so soothing that I feel utterly relaxed. I turn my face just so that I can see her face, partially hidden by the hills of her breasts. What I would give to explore the magnificent topography of this woman…

"Are you nervous?" she asks quietly.

Through her many layers of clothing, I can still feel the heat of her body, the smell of her, strong and intoxicating. Snippets of memories flash before my eyes – we are making love in a temple pool, the water lapping at our feverish bodies, mirroring and intensifying the waves of pleasure within us. It changes, and we are rolling about on a four-poster bed, clutching at the sheets and gasping aloud. Then I see something I have dreamt of before. She leans over me, the sunlight glowing like fire around her shining head. Tendrils of golden red hair drip over her naked shoulders and collarbones as her lips hover just over mine. _Your destiny is joined to mine…_

"Kartik?"

"Jesus!" I sit up with a snap, turning my back to her and hoping she hasn't seen my sudden display of arousal.

"What's the matter?" she asks, sounding amused.

"I – uh," I turn my head to face her, my cheeks burning. She's blushing as well.

She saw.

To my surprise, she lunges forward and kisses me, wrapping her arms over my shoulders. Her lips move to my neck and she fumbles with the buttons of my shirt. I let my head fall onto her shoulder. Her lips trace over my collarbone as she leans forward precariously.

"Gemma," I whisper gutturally.

"Shh, I know."

"Then don't – ohh," a sigh escapes my lips as her hands brush over my lower abdomen. What is the harm if we do not go all the way? We have certainly shared more than kisses in past lives. Why not now?

My mother's voice runs through my head and douses the fire like a bucket of ice water. Whether or not I choose to believe her, I still feel guilty.

"Gemma," I say a bit more forcefully.

"Oh fine!" she says, exasperated. We sit quietly on the bed for a few moments.

"How is your family?" I ask as if we hadn't just been close to coupling.

"Blissfully ignorant, for the most part."

"For the most part?"

Gemma smiles. "I told Tom about the Order and Rakshana."

"You didn't!" I say, shocked. "But surely he doesn't know about…us."

"No, he doesn't," she says happily. "He doesn't need to."

"True," I agree.

"And guess what the best part is?"

"What?"

"He doesn't think I'm mad!"

"Well that's…" I trail off. I don't quite know what to say to that. "Helpful," I finish.

Gemma beams at me. "Now what did you want to discuss with me before?"

I clear my throat. "As I said before, I am to meet with the Rakshana tomorrow. My mother assures me that I shall be reinstated, but I fear it won't be that easy."

Gemma nods. "Especially once you consider Simon's connections with the Rakshana and with Circe. There may be corruption going on within, don't you think?"

"Yes. So we cannot afford any misunderstandings." I pause to gather my thoughts. "It's time we've made some changes. We can no longer afford that gap between the Order and the Rakshana, and the hostility it brings. Because if we are to fight the same enemy, shouldn't we fight together?"

"But we've barely any contact with members of the Order. How are we to round them up?"

"My mother says she is on familiar terms with all promising members. Any other priestesses threaten the union; they say they want to keep the magic pure."

"And do you think they will stand to be left out?" Gemma's brows furrow in worry.

"It is your decision, what to do with the magic and the Order. If they disagree with you, then they are rendered worthless by default," I say confidently. I feel a surge of honor at the recognition of Gemma's position. It brings a smile to my lips.

"What are you smiling about?" she asks slyly.

"You tell me," I say, leaning forward to kiss her.

* * *

It is nearly daybreak when my feet touch the ground below Gemma's window. I had stayed far longer than planned and now I must rush back to the house on Marylebone Road, where my mother insists we stay, or face my mother's wrath from my disobedience.

Something itches in the back of my brain and without realizing why, I check the rosebushes. There is nothing amiss, but the nagging feeling won't leave me. My blood chills as I realize the absence of the doll. Either someone had found it and moved it, or…

Who do you pray to when the one you worship is the one you are praying for?

**Oh crazy!Pippa doll shenanigans! And Gemma/Kartik - naughty naughty!**

**I have a suggestion! I don't care if you like anime or not, but there is a fantastic one that you will like if you like AGATB. It's called Victorian Romance Emma and there are some really cool parallels to AGATB, plus it's historically accurate. There's even a hot Indian guy named Hakim, but he's really nothing like Kartik at all. Though I must say William reminds me of Simon. Look it up, it's worth it!**

**I'm watching Victorian Romance Emma Act 2,  
LunaEquus**

**A review a day keeps crazy!Pippa doll away!**


	18. Chapter 16

**Shocking chapter! (Ish.)**

"Gemma, why aren't you dressed? We are to have tea with Mrs. Rogers this afternoon." Grandmama regards me coolly as I descend the stairs, fully dressed, but not to her standards.

"Tea? This afternoon?" I ask weakly. I am to meet with Kartik before he faces the Rakshana. It is of far more importance than any tea, but I have no means to tell Grandmama that. "But I have…prior engagements."

"Prior engagements," she echoes.

"Y-yes," I stammer. Sorry Kartik, it seems Mrs. Rogers will win this battle. But then I am saved. Tom sweeps by, donning his hat and coat. "I am to visit the patients at Bethlem with Tom," I say loudly enough for him to hear. He slows to a stop in the front hall.

"Thomas," says our grandmother. "Gemma says she is to accompany you to Bethlem. Is this true?"

Tom shoots me a fleeting look of confusion. I nod slightly. _Mess this up Tom, and I may just turn you into a frog after all._

"Yes, Grandmama, Gemma is to read to the patients."

But Grandmama isn't satisfied. "Then why were you about to leave without her?"

I clutch my hand bag tightly. Tom takes a deep breath. "I was only checking to make sure the driver wasn't using a bearing rein on Ginger."

Grandmama gives a stiff nod. "Very well then, off you go." She turns to me. "Try not to make a habit out of this, Gemma. There is much better company to be had than the lunatics."

"Right, Grandmama, I will see to it that I don't," I say. _Though I daresay Mrs. Rogers isn't among them._

"So Gemma," Tom says once we are in the carriage. "I doubt you are really keen on coming to Bethlem." I am silent, figuring the best way to word my dilemma.

"I need to see Kartik," I say. Tom grimaces. Definitely not the best way to word my dilemma. "I mean, there is something…important we need to do, concerning the Rakshana."

"That's not quite what I wanted to hear, Gemma," Tom says slowly.

"I won't be in danger and my virtue won't be compromised," I say quickly.

Tom looks me straight in the eye. I can see the overprotective brotherly concern in his blue eyes. "Do I have your word on that?"

My breath catches in my throat. I feel guilty for deceiving him so, but the truth of the matter is, Kartik and I have not fully consummated our reunion and we really haven't made plans to.

"Yes Tom, you have my word."

He exhales his relief and slumps a bit in his seat. "Very well. Where is it you need to go?"

"Marylebone Road."

"Right then." He leans out the window to tell the driver our change of course while I pick at a thread in my sleeve, thinking how lucky I am to have a diversion, and ultimately, a scapegoat.

"Thank you, Tom," I say out of the blue.

"For what?"

"For believing me."

The carriage slows to a stop and the door opens for me. Tom gives me a small smile. "When shall I pick you up?" When I don't respond, his smile falters. "You're not planning on staying too long, are you?"

I nod my head to the open door in warning. "I will call a hansom cab when my work is finished," I whisper. "I shall be fine."

Tom opens his mouth to protest, but seems to think better of it. I can tell his patience is wearing thin. He leans close to me. "Do not forget our reputations, Gemma. Do what you must, but do not think only of yourself. There are others affected by your decisions."

As much as I despise being lectured, I know in my heart he is right. I kiss him on the cheek. "Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at home."

Kartik meets me in the garden behind the house. He pulls me behind an overgrown rosebush and kisses me so that I am dizzy…and also wary of spiders.

"What's this about?" I ask breathlessly, making sure there are no offending insects in the vicinity.

"She doesn't know you're coming," he responds, letting his hot mouth drift to that delicious spot below my ear.

The funny feeling in my belly stops. "Your mother hates me, doesn't she?"

"No," he says. "She doesn't want us falling too deeply in love before we can complete our task. She's afraid we'll let our guards down…again."

"Then why have you asked me to come with you?"

Kartik smiles brightly. "I am no longer content to be a mere initiate. You and I are going straight to the top."

I laugh. "Ambitious, aren't we?" Kartik's smile doesn't falter. I realize he is serious, and quite sure of himself. "And how do you imagine we'll do that? Walk in and say, 'Excuse us, good sirs, we know we're young and inexperienced, but we'd like to take control of your little organization. Thank you, and have a nice day'?"

Kartik starts to laugh, but throws a worried look at the house and quiets down. "Look," he says. The Rakshana is shadier then I thought. If we want to work well with them, we'll need to be at the center of everything. I cannot just be thrown back in and expect for everything to turn out okay."

I nod. "It must be all or nothing, but if they don't accept you as their leader, then they have no chance at their ultimate reward for allegiance."

Kartik looks at me in confusion. "And what would that be?"

"A share of the magic."

His mouth opens in alarm. "Do you think that is wise?"

"Of course. The reason for all the fighting in the past is greed and jealousy. Everyone wants a share of the magic. Should they receive one, there is nothing to fight over."

"That's putting a lot of faith in them, Gemma," Kartik says softly.

"I realize that. But it's better than having no faith, don't you think?"

While I wait for his answer, I notice that the way the sunlight hits him from behind makes it look as if he has a halo.

"Perhaps," he says slowly. I can see that he wants to believe it, but he doesn't. "Look," he says, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm going to have to go in and get dressed, but-,"

"But you're already dressed," I interrupt.

He plucks his shirt away from his shoulder and lets it fall back into place. "Yes, but my mother insists I wear tailored things now." He closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly. "But Gemma, I have an odd request of you."

* * *

I had never in a thousand years imagined I'd ever say the words "follow that cab" and mean it. I stick my head out the window anxiously, making certain I am still on the tail of the carriage driven by the gray horse, the one I was told to follow until it stopped. I notice that am I being drawn into Pall Mall Square and it is with no surprise to me that the carriage stops in front of the Athenaeum, where I know the Rakshana to be stationed underground. 

The driver opens the door. "The carriage has stopped, Miss."

"Thank you," I say, taking his hand and stepping down. For a split second I see Kartik helping his mother down from the carriage. He shoots me a warning look and I duck behind the door of the carriage.

"Miss?" The driver is concerned. I pretend to root through my purse for money.

"Here you are," I say, handing the money to the driver.

"I've just forgotten something," I hear Kartik say to his mother. "You go ahead; I'll only be a moment." In a rush, Kartik is by my side.

"What now?" I ask, bewildered.

"Secret entrance," he whispers. "Let's go!"

I follow him through a narrow alley that has the likeness of a mouse hole in the side of the great Athenaeum. He pulls open a small door that I'd otherwise never notice.

"Wait inside, I'll come for you."

"But -,"

"Shh!" He closes the door and I am alone. Once my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see that I am in a storage closet. It is mostly bare, just a few dusty boxes and a broom leaning against the wall. I sigh heavily and take a seat on a box to wait for Kartik.

* * *

"Mother, please stop fussing over me," Kartik says quietly. 

Kashvi withdraws her hand from her son's collar, where the lapel just did not want to lay flat. "You aren't nervous, are you?"

Kartik looks away distractedly. "Not at all," he says. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Where are you going?"

Kartik freezes. "The…restroom. I won't be long."

Kashvi looks at her son's retreating form and shakes her head. "Nerves," she mutters to herself.

I stand when Kartik enters the room. "Well it took you long enough," I chide. "I was tempted to hold a conversation with the broom." In the light of the open door I can see that his mother's efforts were worth it. He is extremely handsome in a fitted gray coat, matching waistcoat, and black trousers.

"You're blushing," he says. "Has the broom told you something scandalous?"

"Oh, just something about an English girl and an Indian boy, nothing you'd be interested in hearing."

Kartik catches me about the waist. "Is that so? Shall we stay here and give truth to that rumor?"

"I'm not sure," I murmur, pressing into his warmth. "Don't we have a world to save?"

He brushes his lips against mine, teasing me. "Something like that." He holds out his arm. "Shall we?"

I take his arm, feeling quite like a lady as I do so. "We shall."

* * *

"You look like Hell." 

Simon looks up when Felicity enters the room. He doesn't disagree with her; he knows he looks terrible.

"Are you just going to sit there? What's the matter with you? Ever heard of manners?" Felicity knows she is hardly one to comment on conduct, but her anger prevents her from caring.

"What are you doing here?" Simon asks hoarsely. On top of sleeping badly, his forced dalliances with Circe have greatly impaired his health.

"You're not in the position to ask questions, Simon, especially after what you did to Gemma." She need not mention that her visit was made purely out of boredom. She did not want to wait until the ball on Saturday for information, though she realizes she has compromised her safety because of her impatience.

At the mention of Gemma's name, his head snaps up. "She's alright, isn't she?"

Felicity laughs coldly. "Don't pretend that you're concerned. I won't tell you a thing about her."

Simon clutches his head and groans. "Leave me alone, you wretched woman!"

Felicity's mouth drops open. "_Excuse me_?"

"Not you!" Simon cries out in pain. Felicity is alarmed.

She rushes to his side. "What is it? What is the matter?"

He inhales sharply. "Circe's coming."

* * *

"Hello Mother," Kartik says nonchalantly as we stride into view. Kashvi's smile becomes fixed at the sight of me. 

"Miss Doyle," she says. "What a surprise."

I smile apologetically.

"Kartik," she says slowly. "May I have a word with you?"

He checks his new pocket watch. "No time for it, Mother, it seems it is time for our meeting."

I gaze at him in amazement. I'd never thought that Kartik would be so audacious to his own mother. He always struck me as the subtle type.

Kartik approaches the man sitting at the front desk in the atrium with me still on his arm. I suspect he secretly relishes showing me off, though whether or not it is merely to anger his mother, I don't know.

"Excuse me," he says to the man. "I am here to see-,"

"Ah yes, of course. Please follow me." The man moves quickly to lead us down a richly carpeted hallway. Kartik glances at me in bewilderment. My heart pounds in anticipation. What if they refuse us?

The man knocks on a gleaming wooden door and opens it. Kashvi enters first, shooting an apprehensive look at her son. "Darling, there was a reason you were supposed to come alone."

Kartik doesn't answer. His arm becomes rigid in mine and suddenly I realize how nervous he is. I had always counted on him to be the strong, stoic one. Now that his cover's blown, I cannot help but feel fear myself.

Three finely dressed men stand upon our entrance, and greetings are made. The foreman, a tall, distinguished Russian man, greets Kartik's mother warmly. "Rani Kashvi," he says in a thick accent. He bows and kisses her hand. "Such a pleasure."

I blink, unsure if I heard myself correctly. Did he just call her _Rani _Kashvi?

A second man, an Englishman with a pointed beard and generous moustache makes to greet her as well. It is as if Kartik and I are invisible. I look up at him, but he is distracted. I follow his eyes the third occupant of the room, an Indian man, one who has not seemed to notice our presence at all.

"Kartik," the Russian man says. "So good of you to come." He turns to me. "And the priestess as well; what a pleasant surprise." As insulting as it is to be referred to as "the priestess", I do not detect any malice in his voice. I start breathing a bit easier.

The man continues speaking. "I suppose introductions are to be made. I am Count Dmitri Andreevich. This fine man on my left is Viscount Oliver Sheffield." The Englishman tips his hat to us. "And to my right is Rajah Sanjiv Mehra. We three are the predominant masters of the Rakshana, each of us leading the three major sects of the brotherhood. Viscount Sheffield rules over the British branch and Rajah Mehra over India. I myself head the Russian and Eastern European region."

He looks at Kartik and me expectantly. "Oh!" I say. "I am Gemma Doyle, um, the High Priestess of the Order." From the corner of my eye I can see Kashvi shake her head slightly. My cheeks burn at my lack of charisma.

Beside me, Kartik is frozen. The viscount notices straight away and turns to the rajah. "He doesn't know?" I hear the Englishman mutter softly. I notice that under his moustache, his lips don't appear to move at all as he speaks. Rajah Mehra finally looks up and locks eyes with Kartik's mother. There is something about the subtleties of the man's face, the set of his jaw, the straightness of his nose, and the intensity of his gaze that reminds me strongly of Kartik.

Suddenly it hits me. Rajah…Rani…Sanjiv and Kashvi are married, and Kartik is their son.

Kartik is a prince.

Before I can open my mouth to say anything, a sweet, intoxicating scent of roses overwhelms me. I feel my conscious slipping away, letting something else take over without a fight. Pressure builds inside of me until I fear I shall be torn apart, or worse. But then I am floating, my body as light and soft as a lullaby, drifting lazily over the streets of London.

I can see everything, hear, feel, smell, taste, know everything. The trees of Hyde Park beckon me closer, the wind sifting through the green leaves whispering all the secrets of the world. How have I never listened before? Underneath me, a child falls from his pony; I can feel the pain jolt through my shoulder, feel the tears dripping from my cheeks. Nearby, a couple shares their first tentative kiss in the privacy of a rose garden. My hearts sings for them.

The currents change and I am heading towards a place I sense I do not want to go. I try to close my eyes, but try as I might, I still see. I see Felicity, her face white with fear. I can see the swirling black shadow forming behind her. I try to scream, try to warn her, but my voice won't serve me. I see Simon, his eyes wild with terror; he tries to call for her. She is frozen. At the last minute, he pushes her out of the way, and is taken in her place. Beside the mass of black stands a woman I had once known as somewhat of a mentor, a woman that calls herself Circe. She is laughing cruelly. Felicity screams for Simon, frantically searching where he had just stood.

It is no use. He is gone and the creature is sated. For now…

With a force like hitting pavement, I am back in the room with Kartik, his mother, and the masters of the Rakshana. Kartik cradles me against his chest on the floor. Everyone is looking at me fearfully.

"What has happened?" Kashvi asks, her voice hushed.

My lips tremble as I open them to speak. "Circe is back."

**Woah. Honestly, I didn't plan the two very shocking things pertaining to Kartik and Simon. They just happened. Well actually, most of this story just...happens. I don't really plan. At all. I just sit and let it come to me. Don't have a thing written down, so hopefully if I miss something, a diligent reader will find it and tell me.**

**Don't worry about Simon. That's all I'm saying. But just know that he's a good boy caught up in a mess of things. **

**Kartik...a prince? Hmm, looking back to the prologue, I'm surprised I didn't plan it. Hate the idea? Or love it? Not that his princeliness will make everything easy and wonderful. **

**I have a sparkly blue magic wand riding crop,  
LunaEquus**

**(PS You've no idea how honored reviews make me feel. They do. Honored. Like...royalty. Which is what Kartik is. Would you like to be part of Kartik's harem? Reviews earn you a place in his harem. If he had one. Sadly, Kartik is a one chick kind of guy, and Gemma is kinda...you know, his soul mate. Maybe next time he's reincarnated...)**


	19. Chapter 17

**This is a little bit shorter than the other chapters. hope you like anyway!**

"Circe is back."

The room falls silent. When no one makes to move or speak, Gemma squirms in my arms, trying to get up.

"Didn't you hear me? Circe is in London! She killed…" Tears sparkle in her eyes, but she says no more.

My mother kneels and takes Gemma's hands in hers. "Who?" she asks.

Gemma shakes her head. "Simon," she croaks. "Circe killed Simon."

A small bit of relief spreads at this knowledge, but it does little to dispel the panic raised from Circe's arrival. No one moves. Gemma looks around at us in disbelief.

"Circe is back! We must go!"

"No one is going anywhere," Count Andreevich speaks, his heavy accent more striking than a hammer. Gemma looks up at me desperately. I am torn between helping her and staying here, for if I run out again I may never have another chance.

Gemma pushes me away and stands. "You're all mad," she says angrily. "Circe has just murdered someone, and you just sit there! No one is safe!"

"And perhaps it is an illusion, priestess, meant to upset you. Perhaps Circe is trying to lure you out of hiding," Viscount Sheffield says stiffly.

"An illusion?" Gemma laughs weakly. "What good can that be, to lure me to Denby?"

The masters shift impatiently. I do not like seeing them treat Gemma with such disrespect, but I see their point.

"We know that Simon is in league with Circe," I whisper to her. "Perhaps you are expected to show up not expecting to see him so that you can be easily taken by surprise."

She bites her lip in worry. "Kartik, the tracker meant to get Felicity. Simon pushed her out of the way."

"Circe's illusions are very well-woven," my mother says, cutting into our conversation.

"Do you think I still cannot tell the difference between illusions and reality?" Gemma is nearing hysterics. "Circe is back and Simon is dead. I know it is real; I can _feel _it!"

"I believe you," I say.

"Thank you," she says, glancing around the room. "At least someone knows I'm telling the truth." Her attitude does not go over well.

Rajah Mehra stands suddenly, knocking the chair over. "The truth is this – you are young and foolish and I rue the day the Rakshana ever follows your lead."

I am as taken aback as Gemma. For the briefest moment I fear she shall cry, but she surprises me. "The Rakshana is not for me to lead," she says clearly. "But consider this – you will forever be in want of your desires if you choose to be my enemy."

"Blackmail has never suited the Order before," the rajah says icily. He throws a nasty look at my mother. "The Rakshana does not need -,"

"The Rakshana is _nothing _without the Order," I interrupt. My heart pounds with adrenaline. This is the moment I have been building myself up for. "The Rakshana is nothing without me. If you declare yourselves my enemy then you can be sure you are no longer Rakshana." My voice is but a whisper, but the words strike them as if I have been shouting.

Viscount Sheffield pours a glass of brandy. "Who are you to tell us such things?" he asks lightly. I sense the air of formality, as if it is an act to ask me such a question. It gives me the strange urge to laugh.

"I am the Dignitary reincarnated, and I have come to take my place as head of the Rakshana." My breath holds tight in my chest.

The count and viscount nod in approval, but the rajah jerks his head irritably. "And what do you plan to do as Grand Master? You've missed out on crucial training due to disloyalty."

His implications come as a punch. "So you'd rather me kill the High Priestess and then take my place?"

Gemma throws me a worried look. She looks often at the door, as fidgety as a child. She wants to be where she is needed, and I am not helping matters with this argument, but it's important. I don't know who this man thinks he is, but it obvious he does not share the same views as the other two.

When I speak, my voice is quiet. I have developed a liking to this subtle hold over my listeners. "It is because of men like you that the Rakshana remains in a loss of power."

"How dare you say-,"

"Who are you to tell me what I dare or dare not say?"

"I am your father."

The news strikes at a nerve. For a moment I cannot say anything, such is my shock. I was never even looking at that possibility; my sights were set only on my desire to have my say. Through the frankness of his declaration, I see it is a test meant to startle me. I shake my head slightly. Father or not, it does not make a difference in the current situation.

"You want it all and risk our purpose and reputation to get it. The Rakshana is a supplemental group to the Order; we work with them and share power without limitations. At least, that is how it should be."

"Well said," the Russian says. He and the viscount have been silent, letting me speak, letting me fight this personal battle.

"Hear, hear," says Viscount Sheffield. Gemma squeezes my hand. My mother smiles, but it is directed toward Gemma.

"Most High?"

Whether Gemma and my mother have spoken previously about this or not is unsure, but some sort of silent communication goes on between them. Gemma clears her throat delicately, commandeering all attention on her.

"Gentlemen, I have a proposition to make." She pauses to collect her thoughts. "The realms have always been the Order's responsibility, and for long the magic has remained there. It was a selfish thing, to keep that magic for ourselves, and we have been punished for it over the centuries.

"The magic belongs to no one person or group, but to everyone. But because we have held it for so long, everyone else believes it is their turn for full control. This is understandable, but not right. Fights have broken out and new sources of magic, dark, terrible magic, have been found. The priestesses can no longer contain it alone. We need our guardians to help us, as it has always been before."

Gemma speaks with an inner grace I've never witnessed before. It is as if the voice of God reaches our ears through her lips.

"Without the Rakshana's allegiance, the Order stands no chance at survival. The realms would disappear from mankind's grasp, leaving us without magic and without dreams, and ultimately our concept of Heaven is lost as well. Without the priestesses, spirits must find their own way, with an increased chance of being led into the Winterlands, into Hell itself, instead.

"We cannot risk that happening. So I ask for the Rakshana's allegiance, without complications. No more secrets, no more hidden webs of conspiracy. Will you grant us your allegiance freely?"

I stare at Gemma's profile in wonder. Never a religious man, I have the odd urge to make the sign of the cross and bow my head in prayer. She turns to me. Her eyes plead with me as if to say "can we go now?"

"Before I address that powerful sermon, I have a few words I'd like to say," Count Andreevich says. "Sometimes life presents you with trials you must overcome before you can be deemed worthy to move on. In the past, the Rakshana had been headed by a boy. The Dignitary was mature in many ways, an excellent scholar and fighter, but on an emotional level he fell short."

I shift uncomfortably at this accusation, however indirect it may seem.

"So besotted was he with his Goddess, that he became reckless, abandoning his voice of reason and letting her take the reins. The trouble was, however powerful and spiritual the Goddess was, she too was only a girl in love."

Viscount Sheffield cuts in. "That is not to say that their love was destructive. On the contrary, their love was their greatest strength; it does wonders to have a person to love and trust unconditionally, but it was also their greatest weakness." He frowns at the rajah – my father, who has grunted in disagreement. I wonder how it is that such an unpleasant man became my father.

The count takes this pause to resume talking. "Over the many centuries, the Rakshana grew tired of their sentimental leader, though they knew it would always be the same spirit. To put it delicately, they sought out to discipline him by way of murder. The message was clear, but only if you were looking to read it. In past lives it was the same boy that stood trial and failed. Today, the Dignitary stands before his men as a man himself."

It takes an enormous amount of self control to stop the maniacal grin that threatens to spread across my face. My heart soars with pride, with a sense of accomplishment, with a sense of duty.

Viscount Sheffield smiles through his mustache. His gray eyes crinkle as he does so. "Your first trial – loyalty to your cause, your true cause. You gave up all you knew for the life and love of the High Priestess. Your second trial – undying allegiance and bravery in the face of death. Even when all hope seemed lost, you remembered your duty as guardian of the High Priestess. Your third trial is yet to come, but we have faith in you that you will pass with flying colors."

Count Andreevich steps forward. "Let us be the first to welcome you back into the fold. The Rakshana bows to your will. Thus it is your responsibility to lead us, your decisions are ours." He nods his head to Gemma. I understand he means for me to declare our allegiance to her.

I open my mouth to speak and words I never planned to say come tumbling out. "Do you know why the men of the Rakshana follow the Eastern Star?" Gemma shakes her head. "The Eastern Star is another name for Venus, the morning star and the goddess, also known as Aphrodite. Aphrodite was known throughout many cultures and religions by other names but always by the same role. She is the Goddess, she is you. The Rakshana will always follow you. You have our allegiance."

I'm mildly impressed by my own little speech. Gemma stretches up to whisper in my ear.

"Please Kartik, we must go. I fear Felicity is in danger!"

I look back at the three masters and my mother. She steps forward. "Do what you must. We will be waiting."

Without further leave, Gemma is out the door like a shot and I am left to run after her.

* * *

Simon shivers madly as he takes in his surroundings. One moment he is in the warm security of his home and the next he is in this…well, he's not quite sure where he is, but he knows it is not a place he wishes to be.

The sky looks like someone spilled wine over it and the air is thick, like a room full of men smoking cigars. These are all familiar things to Simon, but he cannot be comforted by the similarities. He is afraid, he is cold, and he is not alone.

"Simon Middleton. Fancy seeing you here."

Simon jumps as a near familiar figure steps from behind the tree. He remembers her from countless parties from their youth, the dark beauty, never far from her fair-haired friend. He wishes he could remember her only as the inseparable addition to Felicity Worthington, but recent dreams and visions have changed that. He knows her more vividly as this ghastly creature, the monster he was forced to plant in Gemma's home.

She steps near him, trailing her bony fingers over his still-vibrant form. He shudders at her touch and she laughs. "Always a gentleman, aren't you?"

Simon doesn't answer.

Pippa growls, a primitive and guttural sound. "I wanted Felicity, not you."

"Why her?" He does not regret saving her. He somehow feels it was the right thing to do.

Pippa gives him a wounded look. "Fee is my soul mate. She belongs here with me."

"I don't think Felicity would want to be here," Simon says quietly.

Pippa's face twists horrifically. "You don't think?!" she screams shrilly. "You don't _know_!" Simon eyes her jagged teeth. His stomach turns when he sees bits of blood and skin there. She advances on Simon. "So you're saying that she'd rather be with _Gemma_?"

"Yes," he says defiantly.

With a howl of rage, Pippa lunges at him, only to be struck back by something, no, _someone_ else. Simon looks up hesitantly at his savior. An Indian man stands before him, a ragged black cloak upon his shoulders. To Simon's surprise, Pippa whimpers in submission.

The man speaks to Pippa as if Simon was not present at all. "Don't you have something you should be doing? A priestess to haunt, perhaps?"

"I can't!" she whines. "Someone removed me from her house. I don't know where I am anymore!"

The man scoffs. "You're in the Winterlands, you twit. Honestly, I don't know why you bother."

Pippa pouts and folds her arms over her chest. "Circe asked me to. I can spy on them this way and report back to Circe. She knows their weaknesses now!"

The man rolls his eyes. "It does not take spying to know the weaknesses of a trio of schoolgirls."

Pippa grins widely, revealing all of her sharp, dirty teeth. "That is why I'm not spying on the other two." Her smile turns wistful. "I would not want to hurt Fee anyway."

"Then who else are you spying on?"

Pippa giggles, sending a chill up Simon's spine. "Your brother!" Simon's mouth drops open as he realizes that this man is Kartik's brother.

The man's voice is oddly calm. "And what have you seen?"

"They're pathetically in love with each other. He is going back to the Rakshana. She is some sort of goddess." She clicks her tongue irritably. "As if they know what _true _love is."

The man turns away, his face a mixture of emotions. Simon has never been good at pinpointing things, but he can see that the man looks happy, proud perhaps. He pushes past Simon, ignoring Pippa's complaints.

"Amar!" she screeches gleefully. "Don't leave me!" She runs after him, leaving Simon alone and confused.

**Okay, it's becoming increasingly harder to write Kartik's POV in this fic. I'm not really happy with it, but because the story drifts SO FAR from the tone of the original books, I guess I have to live with it. I'm planning to write AGATB from Kartik's POV to right the situation, but don't expect that for awhile. **

**I deleted my myspace by the way, so don't worry if you see that I'm no longer on your friend list. Too many perverted messages from older men have turned me off from that site. Oh well.**

**Pippa has a psycho!crush on Amar! How cuuuute!**

**Help me reel Kartik back into his character!,  
LunaEquus**

**Reviews, s'il vous plait?**


	20. Chapter 18

**Sweet. I got a bunch of new ideas for this story. It doesn't look like the end is in sight anymore. Ah well. Enjoy!**

"What do bodies look like once Circe's trackers are through with them?"

Kartik grimaces. I could kick myself for being so insensitive. "Have you ever heard of spontaneous human combustion?" he asks, looking out the window of the carriage. We're stuck in typical London traffic and I have half a mind to get out and walk the rest of the way to Denby, but Kartik has advised me that it is unwise, as Circe can be anywhere.

"Can't say that I have. What is it?"

"It is just what it sounds like. It is a supposed phenomenon in which a human suddenly bursts into flames. The cause is unknown to the general public, because most of the public cannot see creatures from the realms."

I shudder. "That's horrible," I say. "So, the victim would look as if they've been on fire?" He nods curtly. "Poor Simon," I say.

Kartik gives me an odd look but says nothing. There is no denying that a terrible thing has happened, and Kartik's petty jealousy will not change that. I kick my seat impatiently. "Can't we go any faster?" I whine.

"You'd rather run over pedestrians? How kind of you, Gemma," he chides.

"Well it just seems as if you were a much more efficient coachman."

"I'm more efficient at everything."

He catches my eye and I laugh. "I'm terrible," I say. "Circe's at large and I'm laughing. I'm a dreadful girl."

Kartik shrugs. "Can't have storm clouds all the time," he says offhandedly. He traces a seam in the leather upholstered seat. I catch his hand in mine and kiss it much like a gentleman would kiss a lady's. "What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.

"Isn't this how one is supposed to address royalty?" I smile slyly.

His face turns stony. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your parents are a rajah and rani, Kartik! That means you are a prince." I'm shocked that he hasn't figured this out yet.

"I know," he says indifferently. "But that doesn't mean anything to me."

My smile falters. "I don't understand."

He sighs. "I was not raised a prince. My blood may be royal, but that doesn't mean I am. Do you think that if I were to return to India right now, I'd know anything about a prince's duties?"

"But you could learn," I press.

"I don't want to. I like my life as it is." He folds his arms over his chest and I know he will say no more of the subject. I cannot resist asking one last thing.

"So a future filled with luxury and riches does not appeal to you at all?"

"Would you like to compete with the harem I will attain?"

"Of course not!" My cheeks flush.

He smirks. "Didn't think so."

* * *

Back at the Athenaeum, the trio of Rakshana masters share drinks with Kashvi of the Order.

"Do you think we should have gone with them?" Count Andreevich says thickly, pouring himself some vodka.

Kashvi holds her glass of imported wine, but does not drink from it. The men look at her for the answer. "They must start doing things on their own. We shall only interfere if the situation calls for it."

"Tell us about the girl, Rani. Do you think she is strong enough?" Viscount Sheffield lights a cigarette and takes a drag from it, careful not to exhale in Kashvi's direction.

She frowns thoughtfully. "Strong enough, yes. I have yet to find any true indications of her maturity."

"And your son?"

"He worries me."

"You're too soft on him," Rajah Mehra interjects. "He should never have been allowed to deviate from the Rakshana in the first place."

Kashvi gazes at him with a pained expression. "That was the plan, Sanjiv, else we'd have no Goddess left to guide us and they'd have no bond between them."

"Do you realize how strange you sound, Kashvi? You're talking about being led by a girl that you just said wasn't mature enough. That is madness!"

"Miss Doyle is not quite mature enough, but the spirit of the Goddess within her is. She only needs to find the balance. I have faith in her," Kashvi says softly.

"Well I do not," Sanjiv says coldly. "I don't believe that the Rakshana must follow Kartik no matter what. Tradition is not enough reason to put our men in Circe's path."

"But he is your son, Sanjiv," Count Andreevich says. "Don't you want to see him succeed?"

Sanjiv stands up. "I will not bow to any son of mine." He exits the room, leaving silence and unease behind.

* * *

"Driver, please stop the carriage. We wish to get out now."

Kartik grabs my shoulders and pulls me back into my seat. "Gemma, are you insane? Circe might be anywhere!"

"Exactly," I say coolly. "Which is why it is imperative that we make it to Felicity's side before next Christmas, a feat I'm not sure this coachman can perform."

I step from the carriage and catch our bearings as Kartik pays the driver. "_Thank you, _sir!" the driver says. Now that he has money, Kartik tends to tip heavily.

Looking around, I see that we are at the far side of Hyde Park. Rotten Row is in sight, and there are a few riders showing off their flashy mounts. I wonder if some peaceful day I may be among their number, showing off my flashy prince of a love interest.

"Onward to Denby," Kartik mumbles. We set off at a brisk pace, weaving in between throngs of various townsfolk. A slick feeling of terror washes over me. I break out into a run. "Gemma?" Kartik is at my side in a heartbeat. "What is it?"

Even if I wasn't running in a corset, I still would not be able to tell him. I don't know myself. It is an inkling, an intuition, that unless we are not running, something bad will happen.

And it does.

Kartik sees it first, a black shroud moving like mist through the pedestrians. He pulls me fast behind a vendor renting umbrellas. _It's looking for me_. I know I should be quiet; I try to, but the stays of my corset impale me with each heaving breath. I pant heavily, spots dancing before my eyes. Kartik holds my waist to steady me, and I cling to him like a life preserver.

"Kartik," I gasp. "Help me!"

Kartik places his lips to mine and it's as if he is breathing life back into me. When he pulls away, I feel fine, as full of breath as a girl can be in a corset.

And then a woman screams.

For a wild moment, I think it is in response to witnessing the kiss between Kartik and me. Who could be so racist? But then I see the source of her screaming. Circe's tracker hovers over an innocent man, appearing to devour him. I remember what Kartik had said about most of the public not seeing such trackers, and instead seeing what they think is spontaneous human combustion.

A crowd gathers and watches in terrified wonder at the spectacle of a man bursting into flames. "What should we do?" I whisper fearfully. "We have to help them."

"We have no means to," Kartik says grimly. "Come!" He leads me stealthily from our hiding spot and into an alley. "We'll have to take the back way."

"Kartik…I'm frightened," I whisper.

His eyes dart around the alley nervously until they settle on me. He swallows hard. "Let's go," he says.

He takes my hand and we are running again through a complicated maze of twists and turns. It is a marvel he knows his way around; if he was to stop now and leave me here, I'd probably never make it out alive. We emerge onto the street facing Hyde Park quite a length from the incident. Rotten Row is but a sandbox filled with horse figurines. The gardens are close by, as is Simon's house.

Up ahead, a lone figure stumbles into sight. She may be far, but there is no denying her white blonde head.

"Felicity!" I cry out, breaking into a run. She whips around.

"Gemma?" I throw my arms around her. "Oh thank God you're alright!"

I kiss both her cheeks, tasting the saltiness of tears. I already know their cause. Kartik catches up to us. "Are you alright, Miss Worthington?" he asks politely.

For a moment I fear she shall be wicked towards him, for what reason, I don't know. But she isn't. She shakes her head. "No," she says miserably. "Circe's back."

"I know."

"She killed Simon."

"I know."

She chokes back a sob. "I saw it happen, Gemma! She was going for me but he pushed me away! He _saved _me!"

"Shh," I say, smoothing back her hair. "It's alright. You're safe now, and that's what matters." I turn to Kartik. "What should we do now?"

"We cannot fight the tracker. We should return to the Athenaeum."

"What about me?" Felicity asks, her eyes wild with terror.

"You're coming too," I assure her.

Kartik secures us a hansom cab in no time and gives the driver an alternate route to take. I sit wedged in between him and Felicity, not that I mind much, but it is quite uncomfortable.

"Why are we going to the Athenaeum?" Felicity asks once she's had a moment to calm down. I briefly recount the afternoon's events. "So the Rakshana is on our side now?"

"Yes," Kartik says. He settles his elbow on the slight windowsill and places his chin in his hand to watch the London scene inch by.

"Why did Circe come after _me_?" Felicity whispers to me.

"I don't know," I say. "Perhaps she is after all people in positions of power? She knows who you are, so that wouldn't surprise me."

"Perhaps," she says distractedly. She lowers her voice even further so that I must lean in to hear her. "Gemma, there was something strange in the room. Besides Simon's odd behavior. There was this porcelain doll upon the mantle. I felt like it was just radiating hostility. The feeling got worse when Simon started gripping his head in pain." She shakes her head. "I don't know what to make of it."

"It's Pippa," I say.

Felicity's eyes widen. "Pippa? But why would she -,"

"I don't know, Felicity." Kartik nudges me in the side. I sigh in defeat. "We think she is trying to lure us to Circe somehow."

"But if she knew I was there, then why would she…"

I bite my lip. "I don't know, Fee. Pippa's changed."

She doesn't argue. Instead, she develops a position similar to Kartik's, conveying a noncommittal, "don't talk to me" stance. Well this is going well. I've two silent friends and no window of my own to pass the seconds. The carriage inches on.

* * *

A knock sounds at the door of the lavish Athenaeum suite. "Enter," Count Andreevich barks. The young man from the front desk opens the door and stands before the three powerful people.

"There has been a murder near Hyde Park, sirs," he addresses the two remaining masters. "The cause appears to be combustion," he says meaningfully. "The victim has no apparent linking, so the speculation is that Circe is getting bold and desperate."

"Thank you," Count Andreevich says, dismissing him. The young man bows deeply and exits the room. "We need to act, Kashvi. This cannot go any further. Circe gains power with every murder."

"I will speak to the High Priestess. For now, security measures must be set into effect. I trust you have a plan?"

Viscount Sheffield nods. "We already have men stationed around the city as spies. We will need to increase their numbers and also implement a guard system. Any potential victims must be protected."

Kashvi gazes out the window. "Miss Doyle's house, of course, must be strongly guarded. Her father resides at Oldham sanitarium; perhaps some of your men can pose as doctors. The same goes for her brother. He works at Bethlem Royal Hospital."

"Any other locations you can think of?"

"She has friends that have dallied with her in the realms. They too are at a high risk." A pained look washes over her face as she scans the street for a sign of her son or his priestess. "Dear god, where could they be?" she whispers.

* * *

News of the man who suddenly burst into flames has traveled quickly, drawing increased masses of people to the streets for a bit of gossip. The traffic is nearly non-moving.

"This is ridiculous," Felicity mumbles. "Can't we just get out and walk?"

I open my mouth to agree with her, but Kartik cuts me off with a brusque "No."

I sigh heavily and slump into my seat. The carriage inches on.

* * *

Simon sits against the twisted, ugly tree and is miserably reminded of a happier time concerning such a plant.

"_Aren't the trees so lovely this time of year?" _Gemma Doyle, her cheeks and nose pink from the cold, had never been so endearing to him.

"_There is a certain elegance to them, I suppose," _was his response. He could have, should have said something much more witty or whimsical, but he was so taken with the way she concentrated on not letting her nose drip in his presence that he didn't. Now he wonders if he'll ever see her again.

His head is reeling with confusion. What is Pippa Cross up to? Who is the Indian man she spoke to? Is he to be trusted or feared?

The answers come sooner than he could ever have imagined.

"You look like you could do with some company." Simon jumps at the sudden voice. It is the Indian man from before. "I am Amar, once of the Rakshana, now of Circe's army. And you are…?"

"Simon Middleton," Simon says sullenly. "I don't know what I am."

Amar's dark eyes flash with unexpected pity. "You were taken by a tracker, yes?"

"I suppose."

"Then I am sorry to say you are damned now."

Simon kicks at a rock. "I'd rather not be, thanks."

Amar sizes him up for a moment. "Good. Then we can be allies."

"Allies? But you just said you were part of Circe's army."

"Not by choice," Amar says. "You appear to be an educated man."

Simon smiles halfheartedly. "Graduated from Eton, top of my class."

Amar raises an eyebrow. "Then surely you are familiar with history and politics?"

"I _am _the son of a viscount."

"You_ were_ the son of a viscount." Simon's smile falls. "Dictators never succeed, Simon Middleton. You cannot force one's allegiance." He drops his voice to a whisper. "Circe is creating her own enemies."

"I don't quite understand where you're going with this."

Amar smiles widely, revealing straight, even teeth. "Stick with me, my friend, and you will never lose yourself." He holds out a hand. Simon takes it, still baffled as to what's going on, but reassured that he has another chance to prove his worth.

* * *

"Finally!" Felicity exclaims, stepping from the carriage. She stretches herself boldly. "I thought we'd never make it out of that shoebox."

Kartik ushers us into the safety of the Athenaeum. The young man at the front desk nods to us and gestures down the hall. Without knocking, we enter the room.

They are startled to see us, but also relieved. Kashvi rushes to Kartik, embracing him tightly. "Oh, I'm so glad you're alright!"

I greet the two friendly masters of the Rakshana. The unpleasant one, Kartik's father, I notice is gone.

"Most High," Viscount Sheffield says urgently. "Have you heard about Circe's other murder?"

"The man near Hyde Park? Yes. We witnessed it."

The room is hushed. Kashvi releases a pained looking Kartik and clasps my hands in hers. "How did they not find you then?"

"I don't know," I say, feeling uneasy. "We just…snuck away."

Kashvi turns to the masters. "Could it be that they did not sense her presence?"

"Is that possible?" the viscount asks.

Count Andreevich strokes his black goatee thoughtfully. "Perhaps…Circe is not seeking out Miss Doyle just yet. She probably does not wish to humiliate herself with another failed attempt, and wishes to build her power to great proportions before she tries again."

"That sounds reasonable," I say. "Unnecessary, but reasonable." Everyone looks at me strangely. I clear my throat uncomfortably. "In all honesty, I have yet to see any of this great power am I supposed to possess. If Circe were to find me right now, I'd probably be a goner."

"Which is why we must train you, Miss Doyle. You have the magic within you; you just need to learn to wield it."

"So a visit to the realms is in Order, right Gemma?" Felicity cannot hide the excitement in her voice.

I am nervous. It has been a long while since I last summoned the door of light. I am not entirely sure of what we might face beyond it, or if I can cope with it.

Count Andreevich speaks. "It is imperative that you started honing your use of the magic. If the Order is without power…"

"Alright," I say. "We shall go to the realms. But first, we need Ann."

Kashvi nods. "We must gather the members of the Order together. I still have contact with some promising women. They can be of a help to you."

"Okay," I say softly. I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed.

She takes pity on me. "We will need a few days to gather old members and catch them up with recent events. For now, I'd like you to get some rest. Kartik? Please escort Miss Doyle home. We shall call the front desk for a chaperone for Miss Worthington."

"Wait," I say quickly. I turn to Felicity. "Find Ann. Tell her everything."

"I will," she says. "Gemma, you won't…forget about me, will you?"

"No! Of course not!" We embrace tightly. "As soon as I find out anything, I shall let you know."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

**Okay, AGATB gives mixed messages about the victims of Circe's trackers. Gemma sees Amar devoured by one, but later on, Tom asks her if she knew the man they found murdered along with their mum. That leads me to believe that the trackers do leave earthly remains. So why not throw in some spontaneous human combustion? That's always fun!**

**Kartik's dad is a butthead,  
LunaEquus**

**(Reviews are my favorite thing on the internet.)**


	21. Chapter 19

**Bit of a short update...but since the last chapter barely got any reviews, consider the length punishment. Bwahaha! Enjoy.**

Something is wrong. I can sense it, and Gemma can too. Something besides the obvious – Circe's return and seemingly random victims. I have been taught to never take things at face value, that things are never what they seem. I fear such is the case, but Gemma and I do not acknowledge it.

I am afraid that things have become rather forced between us since today's events. I seek to comfort her, to be comforted by her, but it no longer seems right. My mother's constant nagging and now the words of the Rakshana masters have made me almost truly believe that my love for Gemma is nothing but a nuisance, something to get in the way of more important things. I do not feel this way, but the knowledge that others do, strongly, puts a damper on our romance.

I escort Gemma home in silence, preferring to walk despite the dangers. I can hardly see Circe striking twice now that all eyes are on her. Upon arrival at the Doyle residence, Gemma pulls me into the shadows of the house. I gaze into her face and feel torn. I'd like to kiss her and pretend that I don't feel any different than usual, but to deny my feelings would harm her more in the future.

"What is it?" she asks, a playful smile toying on her lips. I wish I could reach out and feel the curve of her bottom lip, lean down and taste it. No.

"Gemma, I…" Don't know what to say. It will be something she doesn't want to hear, and now she is realizing it. Her brows knit in worry, creasing her otherwise smooth forehead. "I think we should spend some time apart," I say softly. Despite my volume, my words are too harsh for her.

"No," she whispers. Her eyes widen and fill with tears. I can see my own reflection shaking in the emerald water. I wish I could jump in, see things from within her eyes. I could drown in them, never to return. It'd be easier than to see things from my own eyes, to see her, crying by my decision.

"It's…for the best," I say shakily.

"Kartik, no! Please! I'm overwhelmed... You can't leave me now! I need you..."

It is precisely her last words that reassure me of my choice.

"No," I whisper. "You don't need me. You don't need anyone." _It is I who need you. I need to find out if I can make it on my own._

"But when will I see you again?"

I take her hand and kiss it slowly, savoring the feel of her skin against my lips. That is my answer. A sure sign of my affection, open all the same. It is better to say nothing than to say something and be wrong.

I leave her in silence, feeling an odd sense of relief, and knowing that I took the first step in ensuring our survival.

* * *

Tom greets me as I enter the house. He notices my tearstained face and tries to make light of it.

"Ah, my Lady Dour! I take it things are not well with the…Shakarana?"

I don't even bother to correct him. I never want to speak of that bloody organization again. A fresh wave of tears comes as I inevitably think of Kartik and what he just said.

"Gemma? What is the matter?"

Tom is worried, but I can never tell him the true reason for my tears. He can never know about what Kartik and I have between us, though now it seems there is nothing. I cannot control it. I am sobbing now. I wish to crawl somewhere and die.

My brother pulls me into an awkward embrace. "Now Gemma, what is it? You can tell me anything."

_No, I can't!_

"Simon's dead," I moan, unable to think of any other excuse that would be as effective. Tom releases me, stunned, and I take the opportunity to run upstairs to my room, feeling absolutely wretched for more than one reason.

* * *

I hover in the doorway to the parlor, where my mother sits, inscribing calling cards to other members of the Order. Without looking up, she senses my presence.

"Come sit down, Kartik."

I feel so drained of all energy and emotion that I obey wordlessly. The steady sound of pen on parchment is soothing to me. All of a sudden, I am a child again, watching quietly while my mother writes for friends. I would always fall asleep this way, the sound of writing as my lullaby.

"You're upset," she muses.

"How can you tell?"

"A mother always knows. What is the matter?"

I don't really wish to tell her, to relive the painful moments.

"Is it about your father?"

"Yes," I say, latching onto the excuse to keep the topic of Gemma at bay.

She finishes a sentence and sets down her pen. "What would you like to know?"

"How is it that he is Rakshana? I thought we were not supposed to marry."

"There are exceptions to every rule, Kartik." She idly plays with the emerald necklace hanging from her neck. I remember it vaguely. "There was a prophecy many years before you were born. One of the oldest and wisest priestesses at the time envisioned the coming of the Goddess and Dignitary. I was only a young girl at the time, but I was foreseen to carry the spirit of the Dignitary and bear a child that would become him."

"It sounds like the story of Jesus Christ's birth," I say softly.

"There is no such thing as immaculate conception, I fear. That is where your father comes in." My mother's face seems to grow younger as she develops the same expression many girls do when they think of men. It's very odd to see her this way.

"Sanjiv was always a handsome man. Not a big talker, but he had his other charms. He was already very highly ranked, even at such a young age. When it came to the Rakshana, he was ruthless. Very powerful, very determined.

"We were married to fulfill the prophecy we were both envisioned in. Amar was born, and taken into the fold as soon as he was old enough. Everyone thought he was to be the Dignitary. They trained him and waited until he turned thirteen before they performed the test of his true identity."

My mother reaches over and lightly touches the spot between my shoulder blades where I know the tattoo I received on my thirteenth birthday exists.

"The ink did not hold. Amar was not the Dignitary."

I briefly wonder how that must have felt to my brother. Was he disappointed? Did they even tell him? Or was he left in the dark like I was?

"Meanwhile, you were about three years old at the time. Such a sweet child. Sanjiv and I were so happy to have you, but it was not meant to be. The Rakshana knew of your birth and that you also fit the prophecy, but they waited until you were at an age they could take you before they told us. Sanjiv knew the entire time."

"He knew and never told you?"

"He never said a word."

"What a bastard," I say.

"Kartik, he's still your father. Watch your mouth."

I roll my eyes at being chastised. My mother chooses to ignore this. "To make a long story short, your father and I did not see eye to eye about you. Like I said before, he was a very prominent member in the Rakshana and he got there by force and manipulation. I will not lie; as good as he is in some ways, his arrogance and ego cloud his peripheral vision. I did not want you to end up the same. We fought about it, and eventually drifted apart."

I cannot say this knowledge doesn't make me feel bad, to know that my parents fell out of love because of me, but it has taken my mind off of other negative things. So now I know that my father is an egotistical bastard, though that was plain to see earlier this afternoon, but why is he so hell-bent on not joining up with the Order?

"Hatred by association," my mother says once I express this concern to her. "He wants nothing to do with the Order mainly because he wants nothing to do with me."

"I see."

"Do you? It's a very delicate relationship between the Order and Rakshana. That is why you and Miss Doyle are so important to the cause. Communication and cooperation must be present at all times. If the connection between the two of you were to be cut off, then there is no telling what might happen."

"But you said we shouldn't be together! You're always preventing us from seeing each other!" I'm angry. Everything she just said is in direct opposition of what she's been lecturing all along. Now it seems I've just gone and done the worst possible thing for the future, instead of the best.

My mother raises her eyebrows at my tone. "Balance, Kartik. Do you think I'd ever forbid the Goddess and the Dignitary from seeing each other?"

"That's what it seemed."

"Things are not always what they seem."

I feel stupid. I should've seen that.

"What I was trying to prevent was the two of you getting so in over your heads that rash acts started occurring. Do you know what would happen if she were to become pregnant? Do you know what would happen to _you_?"

I nod curtly. My cheeks sting with anger and humility. "Which is why we would never have done anything of the sort." She raises her eyebrows again. "We _didn't_," I insist angrily. I do not know what it is about my mother that rouses this level of immaturity. I'd be ashamed of myself, but my spite is such that I'm not.

"Alright, I believe you. I trust you. But what if the mischievous spirit of Alexios decided he was tired of waiting for Hypatia to come out and play? Or Alexander, who had this house built, would he not want to tempt his wife back to bed?"

"Mother!" I exclaim, thoroughly embarrassed.

"Kartik, darling, listen to me. You embody a spirit that has lived many times. You have many memories, many hopes, many fears, many desires. There is no telling when you may mistake them for your own current ones." She smoothes the hair from my forehead. "You can be with your Gemma, but remember, she is _Gemma_. Not Hypatia, not Aurelia. Do not lose sight of the girl you love now."

"Play by the rules of this time," I recite hollowly.

My mother smiles. "Exactly."

I have never been more confused.

* * *

There is a note on my bed. A bitter laugh escapes me. Well if he wishes to apologize now, he can forget it. I shan't let him have that satisfaction; I am not a toy to be played with.

I sit at my desk with my back to the bed. I shall write a letter to Ann, informing her of today's events. I dip my pen into the ink and pause. The letter's contents seem to burn a hole through my head, taunting me with its information. Curiosity wins.

I grab the note and read it. Instantly my blood goes cold. It is not from Kartik.

_Miss Doyle,_

_I have something of value to you. Perhaps you'd like it back? I still reside at my old lodgings on Baker Street. I'd be delighted if you'd join me for tea tomorrow afternoon, say three o'clock? Come alone._

_Hester Asa Moore_

Something of value to me? What could she possibly have? My mind races with possibilities. One thing is for certain, come three o'clock tomorrow, I will find out.

* * *

It is with a heavy heart that I not only decline supper, but also retire to bed early. It is the master bedroom that I have claimed as my own; I suppose it is my right to after all. I find it strange to know that I now lie upon what was once my marriage bed. For the first time in a long while, I feel incomplete, restless. My attention keeps turning to the door that separates the bedroom from the walk-in closet, as if I expect Gemma to appear and crawl into bed with me. I suppose I can understand what my mother was referring to earlier. Old habits do die hard.

I want Gemma back. It was a stupid thing to suggest time apart. This bed is empty without her beside me. I suppose I could sneak into her room and take back everything I said, but pride keeps me immobile. I doubt she'd want to see me anyway.

What is there left to do? Life is rather dull without her. Until my mother gathers the Order, we all find ourselves at an impasse. Tomorrow I shall meet with the masters and request training. That seems to be all I can do.

* * *

Felicity Worthington fidgets with her hands nervously. Sitting before her, a constable and a hysterical Lady Denby. Lord Denby stands behind his wife, next to his butler. Another constable hovers by the fireplace.

"Please recount the events of your visit," the seated policeman says in a tone that suggests boredom.

"We had just been talking, and Simon started clutching his head in pain, as if he had a headache, and then…" Tears well up in Felicity's gray eyes.

"And then…?" The officer scribbles something into his notebook. Felicity shakes her head.

"The body was found burned, as if it had been set on fire." The second officer ignores the sudden wails of Lady Denby. "Do you know how this happened?"

"It…he just…it just _happened_."

"You're saying you had nothing to do with the death of Simon Middleton?"

"I had nothing to do with the death of Simon Middleton," Felicity echoes softly.

"She's lying!" Lady Denby screeches. She lunges at Felicity. "You're _lying_! You did it, I _know _it!"

"Madame, please!" The two constables struggle to restrain her. Lord Denby places a firm hand on his wife's shoulder. The seated constable flips through his notes.

"The butler says he has no memory of Miss Worthington even entering the residence, but eyewitness accounts have seen her leaving shortly after the estimated time of death. Miss Worthington, are you certain that you have no information concerning Simon Middleton's death?"

"No, sir." Her usual confidence is gone, dead just like Simon. Her eyes swell with tears. _He saved my life_.

The constable stands. "Then I'm afraid that without any evidence to prove your innocence, you're going to have to come with us."

"What? No!" she cries. "I am innocent! I swear it!"

"I am sorry, but that will have to be decided by Her Majesty's Crown Court."

She is sobbing now, terrified with the prospect of having to explain the unexplainable, lest she spend the rest of her life behind the rotting bars of Newgate Prison as a murderer.

**Ooh I did not expect Kartik to "break up" with Gemma, nor did I expect Felicity to be suspected for murder. I must commend my fingers for typing such interesting developments! **

**Review please? I may have to start withholding updates until I get a certain number... Oh I am so spoiled. Bad author! But thanks to all who have reviewed so far. If you'd rather give Son of the Rakshana some love...I'm perfectly fine with that. xD But in all seriousness, reviews motivate me more than anything else, and once classes start I'll need lots of motivation!**

**Thinks Kartik is being a bit of a brat,  
LunaEquus**


	22. Chapter 20

**Outstanding response with the reviews! Thank you all very much! Hmm, now I know that threats DO work! Enjoy.**

As I step out into the muggy afternoon air, I wonder how incredibly stupid I must be, to go through with this. Even the weather is telling me to run back inside and hide. Storm clouds hang overcast, threatening all of London with a downpour. Like an animal salivates before attacking its prey, the sky releases but a mist, dampening everything inside and out, and making a complete mockery of my hair.

But of course, that I can even think of something as trivial as my hair during a time like this is an indicator of how mad I must be.

I hail a hansom cab and direct the driver to Baker Street. Life is not incomplete without Kartik. Just this morning I tried a new type of sausage with my breakfast, and earlier this afternoon I completed a sampler I've been working on since Christmas. So the robin has green wings, but it's no matter. I don't need Kartik to be productive.

I just want him. Very badly.

I sigh miserably as the carriage jostles down the cobblestone street. _Gemma, it's not quits for good_. Yes, I'm aware of that. But why now? What have I done that has suddenly turned him away? My hair was certainly not this frightful yesterday. Maybe his mother said something to him. She hates me, I know it.

Tomorrow I am to visit Father at the sanitarium. It has been a long while since I've seen him last and truthfully I am nervous. What if he is worse? I don't see how he can possibly be any worse, but the fear is there. I am also excited. I miss my papa, miss his jokes, his laugh, his security. As the world turns upside down around me, I find myself longing for something that stays put.

As the carriage nears Circe's apartment on Baker Street, my anxiety rises to such proportions that I fear my wit shall be lost. There is no time to turn back, no time to collect help. I ring the bell upon my arrival and wait for Mrs. Porter to inquire about my visit. A few minutes pass, but there is no sign of anyone beyond the door.

Perhaps the bell is broken? I knock loudly on the door and wait. There is nothing. Fear now clouds my rationality. I open the door and step inside. "Hello? Mrs. Porter? Is anyone at home?" There is no answer.

Against my better judgment, I mount the stairs. They creak under my feet, sending ghastly echoes through the seemingly empty house. My heart beats in my ears, a symphony of nightmarish sounds made worse by the total silence of my surroundings. This is a bad idea. Rather, this is a _very _bad idea.

"Miss Doyle."

A voice sounds above me. I lean over the rail to spy upwards. There is no one there. I want to turn back. I must. I cannot stay here.

"You will stay."

My feet move on their own accord. As if drifting through a dream, I walk into the painfully familiar rooms of Miss Moore – Circe. The door shuts behind me with a tidy click. There is something wrong with the room. Something smells…off.

"Make yourself at home."

The rancid smell overpowers me as I sit upon the chaise.

"I'd offer you some tea," the voice grows closer. I know it is Circe. "But good help is so _dreadfully_ hard to find these days. Wouldn't you agree?"

A figure moves into view. Another wave of stench fills the room. It is Emily, but how she is able to stand or hold a tea tray is beyond me. She is dead. Thoroughly.

I want to turn away, to scream for help and cry, but I cannot. I cannot move, cannot look away. All I see is her rotting face, lips curling away from teeth, maggots dripping from every gaping hole forming in her skin.

Suddenly, she falls to the ground with a sickening thud. Bile rises in my throat. I'm going to be sick, I want to be sick, I _can't _be sick. Oh help me! What have I gotten myself into?

Circe walks into view, looking more normal than she has any right to. She looks like Miss Moore. _Miss Moore was only an illusion._ She looks down at the crumpled corpse of Emily and shakes her head. "Can't find good help at all, can we?" She smiles gently at me. I can see the malice behind her dark eyes. "No help at all."

* * *

Today is very dull. The masters have prior engagements and cannot be bothered to meet with me. My mother has no sympathy. I spent the morning locked in the library, but my mind was on other subjects. Perhaps it is the weather, but I have a very bad feeling growing in my stomach, and it is not due to the disgustingly high number of scones I ate with breakfast in an attempt to make myself feel less empty.

I wonder if Gemma is moping around her house as I am. I can picture her curled up with a good book. The title escapes me; I do not know what sort of books she enjoys reading. I don't know nearly enough about her as I should. This knowledge shames me. It is one thing to enjoy kissing her (I do so considerably), but it is another thing entirely to know and love your partner through and through. I shall have to work on that.

The sky darkens ominously. It is a good afternoon for a nap.

* * *

"While you're here, and for once, quiet, I shall take the time to commend you on your efforts so far. You are a very powerful girl, Gemma. I have said it before, and I shall say it many times more. You have a gift, a gift you take too lightly. You don't deserve what was bestowed upon you."

I want to disagree. I cannot even open my mouth to speak.

"Thanks to your eager and entirely too gullible friend Simon, I have been quite able to overcome certain _obstacles_ you've placed in my way. But now, it is you who is trapped." She leans close to me. I cannot flinch away. "It's not a pleasant feeling, is it Gemma? Unable to move, or speak. I can even stop your breathing if I wish…"

As she says this, I feel my lungs stop working. I panic in silence as the need to inhale overcomes me. Circe laughs coldly, but thankfully I am able to draw breath again.

"Now has come the time when I don't even need your silly magic to rule in the realms. Sacrifices give me power and add to my army. Should you ever return to the realms, you will find it a different place. No more sunsets and butterflies, my darling _Most High._ The Winterlands reign supreme. Your time as High Priestess is fast coming to a close."

She paces near to me again. I begin to regain control over my limbs; whether this is her intention or not, I do not know. I need help. There is no way I can escape her alone. I fear I shall die here. Kartik's face swims in my mind. I cannot believe our last words to each other were words of parting. It doesn't seem fair.

"I don't need your magic, but needless to say, I want it. You understand, don't you? A thing of pride, really. Of course, this means I will have to kill you, but as that was my intentions in the first place…" She grins maniacally. "Any last words?"

"Why?" I croak. "Why are you doing this?"

"To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n," she recites. I remember the day in the art gallery, when we gazed upon that painting as friends. I remember the debate that followed, and how its meaning applies to this. Like a puzzle piece, it fits.

"It _is_ a terrible thing to have no power of one's own, to be denied," I whisper, reiterating Miss Moore's words that day.

She is startled. Good. I need all the time I can get. _Help me – anybody!_

"Why deny me?" I ask. "Why deny anyone?"

"You are a threat."

"And you are a hypocrite."

For a moment I think she is going to strike me. She thinks better of it, and smiles. "Tell me, Gemma," she coos, reaching over to stroke my hair. "What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

* * *

_I am dreaming. In my dream I occupy the same bed I feel asleep in, but I am no longer alone. "Gemma," I murmur, reaching for her under the plush duvet. _

_She is confused to see me, but not at all alarmed. "I am Aurelia, Kartik."_

_I join in her confusion. "But wouldn't that make me Alexander?"_

_She smiles gently. All of a sudden, I can see the small differences, in mannerisms especially, that set her apart from Gemma. "You are not my Alexander, and I am not your Gemma."_

_I feel an immense pain in my chest. "Then where is Gemma?"_

_Aurelia's face darkens. Her bottom lip puckers like Gemma's does when she is about to cry. "History is going to repeat itself, Kartik."_

_I don't know fully what she means, but my blood runs cold anyway. _

_She reaches for me. "Don't let it happen. The dark one has her."_

"_The dark one? Do you mean Circe?"_

"_Circe…" Aurelia says the name as if it is unfamiliar to her. It must be. Circe did not exist in her time. "Wake up, Kartik. Don't let it happen."_

"_Where can I find her?"_

"_Free your mind. Look to the sky." She gives me one last look, sad and full of longing. Her green eyes bear into the depths of my mind._

I wake with a start, shaking and sweating despite the chill of the room. It takes a moment to catch my bearings, to realize that I am no longer dreaming. Though the setting is the same, Aurelia is not here. Gemma is not here. She is with Circe.

I dress in record time and hurry past my mother to exit the house. I had briefly considered telling her about my dream, about Gemma and Circe, but I'd rather do this alone.

"Where are you going?" My mother's voice is laced with suspicion.

"To get some fresh air," I say, regretting it. There is no fresh air to be found today, only thick humidity and the scent of rain.

My mother raises her eyebrow and sizes me up. I suddenly feel very small. "Mind you don't get caught in the storm."

"I'll try not to."

Outside, there is something odd about the atmosphere, a distinct sense of decay to the air. I've always been sensitive to nature, but never before have I ever experienced this. This is no ordinary storm.

The passersby on Marylebone Road notice the change as well.

"Odd weather we're having, eh Gill?"

"It's like the sky's about to fall, mate!"

_The sky._ Aurelia said something about the sky. _Free your mind and look to the sky._

Storm clouds are strewn across the sky, darkening threateningly in turn. I see nothing quite out of the ordinary. _Free your mind._ Turning around, I see something peculiar. There is a cloud that hangs so low, it must be able to graze the tops of even residential homes. It is vaguely funnel-shaped, reminiscent of the tornadoes that would regularly rip through India's drier countries. Worse still, it is very close, perhaps even on the next street over.

"Do you _see _that, Gill?"

"Bloody 'ell! I don't want to stick around for _that_ to hit!"

They're quite right, and others are realizing this as well. All around me, vendors pack up their businesses, mothers cart their children home. Tornadoes are dangerous; a condensed whirlwind that can reduce a thriving city like London to dust and debris in a heartbeat. Something nags at me. Tornadoes are not common here.

_Free your mind!_ Aurelia's voice resounds impatiently. There are more pressing matters than oddly shaped clouds. Despite all the dangers, I run towards it, darting between the crowds that run from it. I shall not rest until I know Gemma is safe.

Part of me, a dreaded part, wonders if I shall ever rest again.

* * *

I am sticking my head into the mouth of a tiger, and any moment holds the chance she might snap her jaws shut. For the time being, I buy time by pretending to gather my thoughts. Circe fast grows impatient.

"What are your plans?" she demands.

I sigh. This I can reveal in vague enough terms. "I wish to share the magic with all."

She sneers. "And do you think everyone will be content with only a share?"

"Considering they were without magic for so long, yes."

"You are foolish."

"So you've said."

We are at an impasse. Despite her earlier claims, Circe seems to be in great want of my knowledge and plans. She knows I am not telling her everything, but she cannot act on it, for then she will never know my secrets.

It is the safest path I can muster at the moment, but I dread knowing that I may very well be here for a very long time. I regret coming, but that is not even worth mentioning. Like a fool, I fell right into her trap without even trying to avoid it. And for what reason? She doesn't appear to have anything of value to me.

Remarkably, as if she can hear my thoughts (I am confident she cannot, else I'd probably be dead by now), she says, "We are going nowhere. Perhaps you need a bit of motivation? I have something of value to you."

"I cannot see the value in it if I haven't already noticed what was missing." My boldness scares me.

Her thin lips curl back into a cruel smile. "They have already been missing for some time. The point is – I have them now."

I am careful to keep my face blank, but inside I am panicking. What is she talking about?

A vague crash sounds from somewhere downstairs. My heart leaps. _Someone's here to save me!_ Circe's face is mutinous. Without a word, she exits the room.

Now is my chance! I race for the window, calculating my chances. As I'm three stories up, the chances are not good, but I'd rather suffer broken bones then die by the hand of Circe. I open the window and am hit with an assault of heavy wet air. Now is not the time to ponder weather.

Something taps my shoulder, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin. I expect the voice of Circe to reprimand me, however I am met only by the fetid stench of a decomposing body and the disdainful grin of a girl unable to rest even in death. Like a puppet mechanized by invisible strings, Emily herds me from the window and back to the chaise. It is only by fear that I comply.

A struggle ensues in the floors below. I pray that Circe will lose.

* * *

I must be clinically insane. I am a human with no magical experience and no weapons, yet I face the world's most evil sorceress, one on one.

"You?" Circe laughs. "Of all the people they send for their priestess, they chose _you_? A boy!"

Rather than retaliate, I look for some way to get through this alive. There, just behind her, an iron candelabrum. With luck, I can knock her unconscious long enough to rescue Gemma.

"Where is she?" I ask, not expecting an answer, but rather trying to distract her.

Circe shoots me an appraising look. "You're very bold, aren't you? Or are you stupid?"

"A little of both, I fear," I say through clenched teeth. Adrenaline blocks my fear, or perhaps it is the other way around.

I've stunned her. She laughs. I take the moment to lunge for my weapon of choice.

"No you don't," she says as I swing haphazardly at her head. There is a crash, a moment of confusion. I am slumped against the wall, dazed. Somehow my weapon was used against me. Blood trickles from my head, the warm, wet feeling sickening me. Spots form, and I know I am not long to consciousness.

"Just stupid, I'm afraid." Circe's voice swims in my ears and fades to but an echo.

* * *

"Does this belong to you?" Circe returns to the room, holding none other than Kartik by the back of his neck as if he was a weightless doll. She throws him to the ground.

"Kartik!" I scream, lunging for him. He is unresponsive, and his hair is wet with blood. I immediately fear for the worse.

Circe spies Emily standing at attention. Her face screws up in fury. "So you tried to leave? Stupid girl! Don't you care what I have?"

"I don't care about _you_!" I cry, clutching Kartik's injured head to my chest. "You're a miserable old hag that cannot accept that she was not chosen by the magic!"

"You're wrong," Circe whispers, oddly calm. "The magic has indeed chosen me."

"No it hasn't," I say weakly.

Her eyes flare. "I will show you."

"No you won't," another voice says. We look to the doorway. Kashvi stands, poised as ever. Her eyes drift briefly over Kartik and I, but return to Circe with a renewed fire. "This isn't your world anymore, Sarah."

"Kashvi," she sneers. "Who are you to tell me -,"

"You've made your decision," Kashvi says calmly. "I'm going to have to insist that you return to the Winterlands."

"I won't."

"You cannot have both worlds. You made your choice. Gemma…" I look up at being addressed. "Take us to the realms."

**Okay, as you can tell, neither Kartik nor Gemma have realized their powers yet. I say this only because it seems a bit off, but it's intentional.**

**So...wow. Corpses, maggots, Circe, head wounds...and of course the odd tornado. Interesting. Your thoughts? In a review that shall make me quite happy to receive?**

**I'll take the time to refer my loyal readers to Son of the Rakshana. I don't think many have realized I updated it, but I did. Second chapter barely got any hits, so...take that as my unsubtle hint to read and review? It can't be shameless, because I'm advertising in my own story, right? -grins-**

**Poor Kartik,  
LunaEquus**


	23. Chapter 21

**Ack! An update, long(ish) overdue. Enjoy!**

A strange feeling rouses me from unconsciousness. Vivid light seeps through my closed eyelids, intensifying the throbbing sensation in my head. Voices drift together, echoing as if I am underwater, and they are on the surface. Perhaps I am submerged, floating away on a river to nowhere.

My senses sharpen suddenly, the light is brighter, the pain more insistent, the voices clearer. Among the warbling sounds, one name is made out as clear as crystal.

"Gemma?" My voice is weak and cracked. A presence sweeps beside me. A hand touches my chest.

"Kartik," she whispers. "Are you alright?"

I open my eyes slightly and close them immediately, though the image is burned into my mind. Her face, blurred and glowing like an apparition, her beautiful head framed by a magnificent sky so bright it cannot possibly be real. I must be dead. This must be some sort of heaven.

"Am I dead?" I ask pathetically. The pain in my head screams at my effort to speak. I didn't quite think the afterlife would be so painful. Unless… "I'm in Hell," I say flatly. My head throbs in agreement.

"No! No," she protests softly. Her hands find my forehead and for a moment the pressure in my brain increases to such proportions that I fear my head shall explode. But then it recedes to nothing and I feel perfectly fine.

I open my eyes. "Oi!" The light is no dimmer than before.

"We're in the realms," Gemma says quietly.

"I figured as much."

A few feet away, my mother is arguing with Circe. _Circe_. I had almost forgotten.

"I cleaned the blood off your head," Gemma whispers. She stares blankly off into space.

"Are you alright?" Her answer is in her eyes. She looks nervously up at my mother and Circe. I don't know what has happened in the last few…how long _was_ I knocked out?

She shoots me a fleeting look of hurt. I don't what to make of it.

"Gemma?"

"Circe has something of value to us," she says distantly.

"To who? You and I?"

"To all of us."

"Oh." I sit up and take in the beauty of the realms. Despite distant memories and Gemma's descriptions, I had never imagined it to be quite like this. Now that I take in the fiery sunset and lush grass, I cannot picture it any other way.

The moment of reflection is cut short by a loud hiss of anger directed towards my mother. She is not fazed by Circe's attempts at intimidation, no matter how terrifying they may be. My mother is of the Order, and is protected here, in this garden, from what I can gather.

"This is bad," Gemma says, gazing at my mother sadly. "The way of the realms has changed. She is no longer protected."

"How do you know this?"

Her voice drops to the softest whisper. "I bound the magic to myself. Kartik," she raises her eyes to mine timidly. "We have to leave."

I frown. "But my mother knows what she is doing. She would never lead us to danger," I say emphatically. But as I say this, I can see the fear in my mother's eyes, and how hard she tries to mask it.

A strong feeling of unease settles itself over me. Gemma is uncharacteristically quiet, distant even, and my mother is afraid. I have hardly any memories of today, and I wake up in another world, where apparently we are in grave danger. I suddenly feel the odd urge to cry, to wrap myself in someone's arms, my mother's or preferably Gemma's, and cry until I cannot any longer.

But I can't. Gemma won't look at me. And my mother is staring Evil in the face.

Something about my deeper relationship with Gemma for the past few months has made me soft, but I will not let myself be taken over by my emotions. Perhaps this is what I'm meant to overcome – the nagging feeling to fall into my zone of comfort and always stay there. I can feel the instincts of the ancient warrior in me, Alexios the guardian. I will not stand by and let Circe wreak havoc on my life.

I scramble to my feet, an act made easier by the springy turf beneath me. Circe holds up a hand to silence my mother and stares at me, bemused. She can sense my intentions.

"Haven't had enough experience as my whipping boy?"

"Kartik, don't!" Gemma tugs at my hand.

My mother says nothing.

Circe glances around at the three of us and lets out an exasperated sigh. "Such insolence," she murmurs. "Very well, as none of you can appear to be swayed, perhaps I shall call in my trump card."

I hope I don't convey my confusion.

Nothing happens.

"I am waiting," Circe says. She snaps her fingers angrily. The air beside her grows hazy, shimmering like air over a hot desert. It begins to take on the form of a human, the haze fading away to reveal something more corporeal. Something that looks remarkably like…

"Amar?"

A rush of emotions overtake me. Happiness, nostalgia, relief, dread, despair…countless unnamable feelings swirling together into a mess that threatens to erupt in the form of…what? Tears? Laughter? I'm rendered silent by shock, immobile by fear of what he might do if I move. Disappear? Kill me? Prove that all along he _has_ been on Circe's side, secretly plotting against his little brother and his cause?

His eyes flicker over Gemma, my mother, and me, but come to a rest on Circe, where they take on an unreadable expression. "Dreadfully sorry Mistress," he says slowly. My heart leaps at the familiarity of his voice. "I had some _disciplining_ to do."

"Very well," she snaps. "How would you like to be reunited with your brother?"

"It seems I already have been."

"How would you like to recruit him to our side?"

For the briefest moment, something flickers in Amar's eyes. Panic. "With all due respect, Mistress…what good could he do? He is but a novitiate."

It is an insult. It stings to know that my own brother is insulting me.

"He is the Dignitary, you fool!" Amar doesn't recoil at her tone. It is obvious that this aggravates Circe. "Recruit him."

"Very well."

"No!" Gemma leaps up and steps in front of me. "You cannot have him."

"You think you can stop us?" Circe laughs.

"Step aside, priestess," Amar says softly. There is no spite or malice in his tone. Only respect.

"Kashvi! Do something!"

I look over to my mother. She is frozen, her eyes set on Amar with an unblinking desperation. "Summon the door, Gemma."

"I don't think that will be necessary." Circe snaps her fingers again, summoning two more apparitions on her either side. The haze clears to reveal two more familiar figures. Simon and Emily. Emily's dress is stained with blood from a gaping gash in her neck.

"Summon the door, Gemma!" My mother is frantic.

Gemma looks at me in desperation. "Do it," I whisper. "I'll be fine."

She closes her eyes, trembling from head to toe. "I can't do it!"

"Gemma," I murmur. "I believe in you."

"When you said we should spent time apart, I didn't think it'd be like this," she whimpers, tears pooling in her eyes. Suddenly I realize the reason for the distance, all the hurt looks – my own stupidity. I long to explain everything to her, but we have no time.

"Take my word that it was a mistake, Gem. Everything is how it was."

She shakes her head. "You're wrong. We're better this time around." A shaky smile forms on her lips. I kiss her quickly.

"Summon the door," I say.

Emily and Simon seem to drag their feet as they advance on Gemma, giving her ample time to summon the door. My mother disappears through. Gemma looks at me, holding her hand out. "Kartik, come on!"

Amar still stands at my side. Though he wears the cloak of Circe's army, I cannot sense any evil on him. Simon and Emily look at him for direction. I realize they are letting us get away.

"Kartik!" Gemma cries.

Despite the promise of safety on the other side, I cannot bring myself to walk through the door. Instead, I gently coax Gemma through, ignoring her protests and avoiding her well-aimed kicks. Call it instinct or stupidity, but I sense a calling here in the realms, a chance to unlock everything I had locked away in past lives. I can accomplish more here than I ever could under training from the modern Rakshana. I know what I must do.

* * *

"You have to let me go back!" I scream. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Doyle. That is not an option."

"You're leaving him for dead? He's your son!"

"Yes," she says sadly. "They both are." She leans over Kartik's motionless body and clasps his hands under his breastbone. "He is not dead. You may recall that spirits in the realms leave their bodies in a comatose state until they return." She looks up, her eyes sharp. "He will return."

I sniffle childishly. "I don't want him to stay here," I whisper, gesturing to Emily's corpse that lies nearby.

Kashvi reaches forward to smooth a few hairs from my forehead. It is a loving gesture, a motherly gesture, that causes more tears to erupt. I have been so long without my own mother, and now I realize how much I need her, need the unconditional love that ones never needs to question. I never once thought that I could find this from Kashvi, but the truth is, she is a mother too.

"Gemma," she murmurs. "Go to your family. We will be fine."

"B-but-,"

"Listen to me. Kartik is a very strong, smart young man. He stayed because he knew he needed to. Do not go looking for him."

I cannot believe my ears. "He is in great danger!"

Her eyes drift over his serene face. "I know. But sometimes…to love is to let go. He needs to do this."

"Do what?"

"Find himself."

I look at her in question. Her answer is but a slight smile, hidden behind layers of secret in mystery. Without another word, I stand and walk away.

* * *

Felicity Worthington stands at attention in the sparsely decorated room. It has the feel of a hospital, cold and sterile, and it brings gooseflesh to her china skin, despite the heat and humidity of the day. It is a room at the Old Bailey, her current residence since being arrested under suspicion of the murder of Simon Middleton. Wealth and family reputation have protected her thus far from imprisonment in the unhygienic and common jails of the lower classes, but she still submits to regular questioning. 

But that won't last long.

Felicity gazes at the figure before her in polite indifference. Knowing her bail has been paid and her reputation cleared by the work of this man has kept her usual hailstorm at bay, but she cannot bring herself to express her gratitude warmly.

There will never be any warmth for this man, not since he created the freezing world she's inhabited for years.

"Come, Felicity," he says, holding out his hand to her. She does not take it. To take his hand would be to express her love for him, her father, the man that ruined her life and countless others. _Who could ever accuse the Admiral's daughter of murder?_ Knowledge of her arrest sent the Admiral into a fury of lawsuits and threats. Jobs were lost, people's reputations ruined, all for the mere thought that all the evidence pointing to Felicity might be true.

Nobody blames a Worthington.

Such is the ignorance within Felicity's family.

"Shall we order a feast for your return? Our reunion?"

Felicity shudders. Her father has just returned from sea. No doubt he will be in want of her. But she is no longer a helpless little girl. She has touched paradise, saved lives, fought demons.

"I have prior engagements," she says distantly. What her father doesn't know is that her plans include letting an apartment with a dear friend of hers, one she has been corresponding with. Together, in Gemma's absence, they have been plotting their escape from their suffocating, expectant, lives.

The arrest was but a minor setback. Felicity has developed a new hardness from the experience, jaded to yet another unfortunate aspect of life. But things are looking up for her. She is a rich woman now, thanks to her debut and her inheritance. There is no better way to share her wealth than to escape.

With a secretive smile, she thinks of all the fun she shall have with her new roommate. Ann Bradshaw was never her best of friends, but recently they have grown closer, feeding off each other's strengths and weaknesses. It shall be like old times at Spence, only better, hopefully better, because of their new levels of maturity. The only issue is somehow coaxing Gemma to join them.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Felicity walks out into the muggy London air.

The thick storm clouds begin to clear.

* * *

"Take care of him." Circe brushes her hand towards me with a cold indifference. However, her expression is very different when she looks at Amar. She gazes upon him almost lovingly, like a collector regarding their prized possession. It is odd. 

Amar nods. "Yes, Mistress."

Circe leaves in the same fashion she summoned the others, in a cloud of sparkling haze. There is silence and taut anticipation in her wake.

Emily clears her throat timidly. "Kartik, I'm s-sorry. For everything."

I look at her in amazement. "It is forgiven. What happened to you?"

She shoots an angry glance towards Simon, who shifts uncomfortably. "Simon embraced me and his dagger _slipped,_" she says sarcastically.

It is incredible to see how dead people interact. How would _I _ever speak to my murderer?

"I wasn't in the right state of mind," Simon mumbles. "Forgive me."

Emily snorts with unkind laughter. "I won't."

"What does it matter now?" I ask gently. "Perhaps you should let bygones be bygones."

Emily is too easily swayed, just as she was in life. "Fine. I forgive you, Simon."

Amar frowns. "Kartik. Why didn't you leave with them?"

"I don't know," I say. I hold his gaze, interpreting all of the emotions I can discern. "Should I be afraid of you?"

"That depends. Are you an enemy of Circe?" I cannot read his expression.

I have never lied to my brother in the past, and now hardly seems a good time to start. "Yes."

He smiles warmly, looking so alive and familiar I nearly burst into tears and rush to embrace him. "Then you have nothing to fear, little brother."

I exhale in relief, but my guard is still up. Corruption, illusions, falsities, all the dangers of the realms still stand, even if this is my brother. I know I cannot fully trust any of them; I can only trust myself.

Amar regards me with a soft expression. "You have to go, don't you?"

"Yes." I don't know exactly where I must go, but I trust enough in my memories to guide me. These realms, while foreign to me, still hold a certain degree of familiarity.

He holds out his hand and we clasp hands as brothers of the Rakshana, and then he pulls me into a tight embrace. "We will hold her off. Do what you must. Kartik…I am proud of you."

"Thank you," I choke, nearing the brink of tears. I turn to leave, but a voice calls me back.

"Wait!" Simon cries. He scrambles to his feet and runs to me. "Please, just tell me, Gemma is alright, correct?"

I wait for the telltale feeling of jealousy, the urge to bear my teeth and growl, but it does not come. I see the honest concern in his eyes, the pain and regret that plagues him even in death. I find I wish to console him, make it easier for him to pass on.

"Gemma is safe and in good health," I say rather formally. "And, thanks to you, so is Miss Worthington."

He nods. A small smile creeps to his lips. "That is good." He stares at me, and for a moment, we size each other up. He rests his hand on my shoulder and gives me a friendly squeeze. "Tell Gemma I am sorry. Take care of her," he says. "I only wish…" He trails off.

I know what he was going to say, but it is too much to wish, too much to dream for.

I leave the garden in dampened spirits.

**Ooh Kartik's wandering the realms! I wonder who he might come across?**

**Oi. The end is sort of in sight. Sort of. **

**What did you think? What do you think will happen next? I'm interested in where you guys think I might be taking it. **

**Loves her apartment and dorm room,  
LunaEquus**

**(Please review. For...Kartik's sake. Yes. Keep him safe with reviews! By the way...since I'm so busy with school, you guys have to REALLY want updates to get them. I am a dedicated fanfic author, and will compromise. More reviews more effort on my part. Ya dig? xD)**


	24. Chapter 22

**An update! wewt. I personally really like this chapter! Enjoy!**

"Precious!" My father's face lights up when the nurse escorts me into the room. I offer a warm smile and stand idly as the nurse draws open the curtains to let the fresh new light in.

"Will you be needing anything, Mr. Doyle?" she asks softly, folding her hands against her starched uniform.

"I have everything I need right here," my father says with twinkling eyes. A lump forms in my throat to see him this way – so healthy and alive. I do hope the nurse leaves soon so she does not fall witness to the tears that threaten to burst suddenly from my eyes.

The nurse bows her head and leaves.

"Papa!" I cry as I run to his bedside.

"Shh now, precious, it's alright." He twists around to cup my chin and place a kiss across my forehead. "Why these tears, darling?"

"I'm so h-happy to see you!"

"Now, now, I'm here. Considerably more so than the last time you saw me." He pats his fuller belly. "I've put on a few since I've been here. It's something in the pudding," he chuckles.

A few more tears seep from my closed lids, but all other misery is but a shadow on the wall now that I know my father is doing so well. I pull a chair close and wait patiently as he retrieves something from his bedside table.

"What's this?" I ask as he hands me a plain box.

"A belated birthday present. I hope you don't mind that it's not wrapped. Can't find a pair of scissors anywhere in this place."

I stare at the box in my hands, trying to make sense of the words my father just uttered. _Birthday?_ With a sudden sickness, I realize I haven't been keeping track of the days since I began this tiresome journey in early June. I spy today's newspaper, folded haphazardly on the table. _July 13__th_ I have been a seventeen year old for about three weeks without realizing it. And of course there was no celebration, no mention of it, for I was "missing".

"Gemma? What's wrong, pet?" My father's voice is laced with concern.

I snap out of my awestruck expression, replacing it immediately with the face I know he wants to see – bright, shining, and happy.

"Nothing, Papa," I say brightly. "For a moment I had just forgotten about my birthday." _For a moment? Try a month. _

He laughs warmly. "Memory loss already? I thought that was only bestowed upon old fools like me."

"Oh, Father."

"Go on, open it!"

I lift the lid and push the sparse tissue paper aside to reveal a pair of slim golden bracelets. They are odd – not anything I have ever seen an Englishwoman wear, but they are beautiful as well. Elegant in their simplicity. I wonder where my father acquired them.

"Do you like them?" he asks, watching my reaction anxiously.

"They're beautiful," I say slowly, holding them up to catch the light. I spy words etched into the underside, but the light is too dim to read such fine writing by.

"They were your mothers. At least, she had them. Never wore them, but I knew she'd love for you to have them."

My heart gives an involuntary pang at the mention of my mother. I look guiltily to gauge my father's distress over her; he stares out the window pensively, but there is the hint of a smile under his mustache. I let out a sigh.

"You look so much like her," he says, smiling. "But that's my nose that I spy on your face." He reaches forward and grabs hold of my nose, initiating the game he'd always tease me with when I was much younger, much more impressionable, much more innocent. Back then I'd have cried, certain he held my nose between his fingers, but now I can only laugh, knowing in my heart that there is one less thing to fret over. My father is well again.

* * *

I have been walking for a long time when I come upon a great mass of rock blocking my path. I falter, certain that I was going the right way. Could it be that my own instincts led me astray?

A great cawing distracts me. To my left are a gathering of large black birds. They hop about, fluttering their wings in a way that suggests unease. I stare at the birds intently, returning the sharp look they give me. One tilts its head in question.

"What?" I ask, exasperated. Their rustling movements draw to a close. I watch for a few more moments, thoroughly perplexed at their odd behavior. "Excuse me," I say, turning to go back the way I came. I feel utterly ridiculous for dismissing my presence from a flock of birds.

"You're not going anywhere, poppet."

I freeze. Did one of the birds just talk? And did one of them just call me _poppet_?

"Excuse me?" I say, reiterating my intended words of departure. I spin around to see the birds, but in their place is a group of malevolent-looking warriors. My eyes widen unintentionally. I curse myself for allowing a slip of emotion.

"A boy, but a pretty poppet nonetheless," one muses. He bears his sharp, blackened teeth at me and snaps. "He could be of some use."

"_Excuse me?_" I am a broken record, shocked and confused. Two warriors appear at my sides, grabbing at my arms. I struggle to pull away, but their sharp jewelry tear at my skin. I suppress a cry of pain, but the one who spoke out notices it in my eyes.

"Are you _delicate_, little poppet?" He leans close, his putrid breath filling my nostrils. I can taste death on my tongue. I muster as much venom into my gaze as I stare into his black eyes. Kohl smudges his lids and cheeks giving him the appearance of a ghastly Pierrot.

The warrior reaches a bony finger to stroke my bloodied arm. He returns the finger to his lips, closing his eyes in ecstasy at the taste. I could retch.

Like a vulture, he circles me. I have since stopped struggling, for it results only in deeper gashes in my arms. "What's this?" he asks sharply, pushing my head forward roughly. My shirt is torn in the back to reveal my neck and shoulders. I shudder, certain I am mere inches from death.

I can feel a knife pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, tracing an arc over and over. It takes a moment to realize that it is not a knife, but a sharp fingernail.

"Where did you get this?" he spits.

"Get what?"

He strikes my skin with his nail. "This marking, where did you get it?"

_The mark of the Dignitary._ These are, _were_ my army, my men, the Poppy Warriors.

"The Rakshana," I say firmly.

There is a long moment of silence, pregnant with anxiety. He faces me again, crossing his arms confidently. I can still sense the panic in his eyes. "Very well," he says slowly. "Let's play a game."

"A game?" I ask, bewildered. "I don't want to play a game."

A sharp blow connects with my head. Spots dance before my eyes, swirling with the kohl shapes on his face. They spin closer. "You're not exactly in the position to argue, _poppet_." I am only aware of his black eyelids. The last thing I feel is the slick blood slipping down my injured arms, and then his eyes consume me.

* * *

"Hello, Kartik," I whisper uncertainly. I close the door to the master bedroom, where he lies in his comatose state upon the bed. Kashvi has allowed me to spend time with him, knowing that it's something I need right now.

I lean over him, afraid to touch him, afraid to find him cold and stiff with death. His lips are parted slightly, and his chest rises minutely with each rhythmic breath. I let out a sigh of relief and kiss him, grateful to find his lips warm and soft as always.

"I hope you're alright," I say, sitting gingerly next to him. I half expect a response, but I know I will not receive one. I fall silent and gaze upon his face. He looks peaceful, as if he's sleeping. If only my kiss could wake this sleeping prince.

"I saw my father today," I say, striking up a one-way conversation. "He's much better; he's coming home soon." It feels good to share this with someone. "No doubt he'll want to entertain a call with Indian royalty. I hope your mother is keen on exaggerated stories." I laugh weakly.

Kartik's eyelids twitch for a moment. I hold my breath, but he does not wake. I resist the urge to cry and tell his dormant form more news.

"Felicity and Ann have let an apartment together. No doubt they're happy about it. I'm so proud of them," I sigh. "I'm surprised they haven't been jumping down my throat about this whole Goddess thing. I'm grateful, really, but I almost wish they'd nag me more about returning to the realms. I'm scared to, honestly, but I'd do it in a heartbeat if your mother would let me." Silence. "I do hope you know what you're doing. I haven't got a clue."

I reach out and shake his shoulder. "Kartik, wake up!" His proximity has reopened the fresh wound of grief. I cannot stand being a world apart, not knowing if he is in danger or not. Tears threaten to choke me. "Kartik," I croak. "Please! Wake up…" I give up trying to rouse him and sob freely into my hands.

Long minutes pass until I get it all out. Kartik's steady breathing pacifies me. He is still alive.

However, death is never far from my life.

"Simon's funeral is to be held soon. Can you believe that Felicity was arrested under suspicion of his murder? She could never hurt a fly…though she did try to kill you that one time."

I recall that moment bitterly. That was the night Pippa died.

I'm speaking again, though whether it is to Kartik or to myself is unsure. I hardly think it matters, given the situation.

"Poor Pippa…I cannot believe she's in this mess. She was one of us, a dreamer wishing for a better life. I don't know where it all went wrong. Well, I do, but I don't. Kartik…she doesn't deserve this; she's just a pawn in Circe's evil game of chess. Just like Simon and Emily, and your brother."

I watch him closely, looking for signs of recognition. Nothing.

"I spoke with your mother before. She told me why Amar was murdered. It wasn't just because he stood in the way of my mother. Circe was jealous that my mother had Amar, as a guardian. It meant that my mother was truly of the Order and Circe was not. Yet another thing to set them apart, when all Circe wanted was to be close to her. That's why she uses Amar. He belongs to her now."

I reach for Kartik's hand and squeeze it. He does not squeeze back.

I sense a fresh wave of tears approaching, but I will them away with great concentration. "Please be careful, Kartik," I whisper, tracing my fingertips over the smooth contour of his cheek. I savor his warmth, terrified I might never feel it again. The thought is too much to bear. I leave the room in a hurry.

* * *

I shudder awake at the ghostly trail of fingers across my face. "Gemma?" I murmur miserably. I had been dreaming of her.

When my eyes adjust to my dark surroundings, I realize I'm at the altar of a decrepit cathedral, chained by my arms to an iron cross. I know enough of Christian history to see the painful irony in this gesture by my forsaken warriors.

"Do you wish to crucify me?" I ask boldly. My voice bounces off the broken surfaces, echoing across the chapel. A slight rustling answers me. A half-dozen or so men step from the shadows, the leader at the front. Each of them carry a weapon, one, a mace, another, a flamberge.

The leader steps forward. "My name is Boaz," he says, grinning as he makes a show of bowing to me. "_at your service._"

"Where is Azreal?" I spit out without realizing it. I search my memory. _Azreal murdered Alexios…_

Boaz is startled. The men flanking them clutch their weapons in warning. For a moment, his black and white face is frozen, but then his features creep into a nasty smile. "Azreal was murdered, princely poppet. By the one your Goddess calls a friend."

"Goddess-oddess," a hooded warrior mocks.

Boaz fingers the blade at his waist of his ruined armor. Deep within me, I am saddened by the state of their once-glorious image. "Your Goddess, your precious _Gemma_, made it out alive." He unsheathes his sword and raises it to point just below my ribs. "Can _you_?"

I make a show of rattling the chains that bind me. They twitter at my attitude. Boaz sneers.

"Unafraid, poppet? Shall we change that?"

In all honesty, I know I should be scared out of my wits, but I'm not. Their theatrics are just that, a show put on for fun. I have no doubt they could kill me, given my current imprisonment, but I can sense they won't.

"Pay attention!" Boaz strikes me across the face. I feel the sting, but it is incomparable to my growing anger.

"_Don't _touch me," I growl through clenched teeth.

The surrounding warriors make an assortment of disagreeing noises. The air is drowned in threats and outrage for my tongue. Boaz folds his arms and regards me coolly. "And you think you have the authority to tell _me _what to do?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think that, _poppet_?"

"I'm the one on the cross."

He laughs bitterly and paces, his eyes never leaving me. "We have been trapped here a long time. We grow restless. Can you blame us for wanting a bit of fun?"

"Yes."

"And _what_, makes you think _that_?" He stops and glares, his eyes glowing a hateful red.

I choose my words carefully. "The only reason you were condemned was for betraying the Dignitary."

"He betrayed us first."

"He did nothing of the sort. The inhabitants of the realms took advantage of their alliance with the Goddess and Dignitary. There was no choice but to close the realms."

"We had our purpose taken away!" Boaz reacts the way a child would to authority. I near expect him to throw a tantrum.

"You did not give it any time! You still had your magic and you used it against us! You murdered Hypatia and then you murdered me."

"So you admit it then."

"Admit what?"

"That you are Alexios, the Dignitary."

"I am Kartik, the Dignitary. Alexios is but a part of me."

Boaz's black eyes glitter like onyxes. "Why have you returned?"

I have not thought much on why, only that I needed to. The answer is clear to me now. "I've come to regain my army."

Silence.

Boaz gestures to the two men on wither side of him. "Let him down." The chains are removed and I'm placed onto the chipped floor. I rub at my aching shoulders. "Azreal was a tyrant," he says flatly. "It was under his threats and orders that we betrayed you."

"Azreal is no longer here," I say.

"What do you offer?"

The part of my conscious that I recognize to be Alexios pushes words from my lips. "The same as always."

An excited murmur washes over the warriors. I now realize that there are hundreds more, hidden in the shadows, watching us.

Boaz extends a hand to me and I clasp it, as members of the Rakshana have for centuries. At first his hand his cold and rough, but it grows warmer, spreading a burning light throughout the ruined cathedral. The stained glass repairs itself, tiles fit back together, bone and dust dissipate, until it is nearly unrecognizable. The cathedral becomes whole again, a vision of marble and red flowers.

We break our grasp, smiling. In my palm lays a fresh poppy.

**Yay good Poppy Warriors! They are so cool. And Kartik is hot. Poor Gemma though. Ah well, all will be well in the end. (Or will it?)**

**No more classes until Monday,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW! happyhappyhappy fun time reviews make the world and author go 'round. (Just a hint - longer reviews make me want to write more. Ahah!)**


	25. Chapter 23

**Wow, I updated this one fast! I couldn't wait to write the end part, so that's why. Notice the title change? Like it? "High and Dry" no longer fits where I'm taking this, so I felt this is more appropriate. Enjoy! (I know Karma fans will!)**

"Gemma, you haven't touched your ice cream," Felicity says pointedly.

"Hm?" I look down at the bowl of peppermint stick ice cream before me. The once-perfect orb oozes into pink puddles. The mint leaf garnish floats on top. "Oh, sorry."

Ann leans forward, absently touching the new brooch at her throat. "You mustn't worry so much about him, Gemma. You know he'll be fine."

She is lying to make me feel better. "Thanks, Ann," I say hollowly. I feel like a widow sitting at this table, nothing able to lift my black mood, not even ice cream.

The yard of the house at 185 Marylebone Road has been cured into fashionable perfection by a team of gardeners ordered by Kashvi. While I appreciate the trim bushes and new flower beds, part of me misses the wild overgrowth. It reminded me of my earlier days here, alone with Kartik.

Felicity sighs and stretches luxuriously toward the gently swaying branches that filter the bright sunlight. It is a glorious day, but I have made it clear that no sunshine and sweet breezes can charm me today. Kartik has been dormant for three days now. Dark circles have begun to form under my eyes from my restless nights worrying. I've silently resolved that I will not last another night waiting idly for his return. If by sundown he does not awaken, I will be going in after him.

Kashvi joins us again, her full lips set in a tight grimace. Her eyes flash violently, but it goes unnoticed to all but me. Felicity and Ann are too busy enjoying their freedom to see.

"What is the matter?" I ask, no longer intimidated by Kashvi's presence. Kartik's absence have given us a chance to bond somewhat.

She holds up a fistful of notes, clenched tightly in her bejeweled fingers. "_This_ is what the matter is. Rejections, every single one of them!"

Felicity and Ann fall silent and watchful. My eyes do not leave the papers.

Kashvi's voice does not raise, but it carries an immense sharpness. "Priestesses. Of the Order, _once _of the Order. All of them refused, blatantly _refused _to help you."

My heart sinks. "But you said…"

"They do not wish to share the magic with others."

I am struck into silence. Her eyes meet mine sadly.

"It is no matter," Felicity says breezily. "We don't need them."

"That's right," Ann pipes. "You have us."

"And the gorgon," Felicity interjects.

"And the Rakshana-,"

"Philon and Asha as well." Felicity smiles. "We have all the allies we need."

Kashvi says nothing. I reach over and take the crumpled notes, tearing them each in half. I hold up my bowl of melted ice cream. "To the New Order," I say, drinking the melted peppermint cream.

"To the New Order," they chorus in agreement.

Kashvi's eyes glimmer with new hope. "You are truly one of a kind, Most High."

* * *

"Where is it you want to go, my Lord?" 

I glance at Boaz's expectant face, clean and healthy, without a trace of malice. With our treaty came the restoration of an ancient era – the cathedral rebuilt on sturdier foundations of trust. My knights reverted back to their once glorious state, dressed in gleaming mail and pristine white robes, a blood-red poppy emblazoned like the cross of the Crusades.

I, too, wear the same armor, tunic, and plumed helmet, and I've never felt prouder. Proud of my men, of my cause. Centuries of dormant memories rush to the surface. I have known these men my entire existence, stood by them, fought alongside them. I do not think of the betrayal, it was but a crack in an otherwise smooth road of reliability.

"I wish to speak to Asha the Untouchable."

"Then you will be wanting to visit the Cave of Sighs."

I frown and look up at the bright sky. Gemma has mentioned the Cave of Sighs in passing. I do know that she puts her trust into Asha, and that is good enough for me.

I think of Gemma with a deeper longing than I have ever felt. My goddess, my queen, my silly schoolgirl of a lover. I miss her terribly, but I can only imagine the look on her face when she hears of my accomplishments.

"Let's trek on then," I say, touching the sword at my waist instinctively. Boaz and a few choice others follow me dutifully. I try to think of the task at hand, but Gemma keeps creeping into my mind. I hope she isn't worried.

"My Lord?" Boaz reaches out and stops me. "There is a problem."

I look around, unsure of what to steel myself for. "What is it?"

"Trackers."

As if on cue, the smell of rotting flesh wafts through the air. I gag involuntarily. A group of morbid corpselike things appear, a great monstrosity of a creature looming behind them.

"Weapons at ready," I say softly. There is a slight itching, metallic sound as swords are drawn. The trackers have spotted us and approach at an incredible pace, considering their deformed limbs. My own sword feels good in my hand. We brace ourselves.

The foremost wraith leaps into the air, flailing wildly with sharp appendages meant to surely behead me. I do the honors first, spurting black blood everywhere as the misshapen head hits the ground. The other wraiths scream in outrage, a bone chilling sound, like nails on a chalkboard.

They advance on us, pulling the great beast along with them.

* * *

When the carriage comes to bring Felicity and Ann home, I make up an excuse to stay behind. I've no intention to go home. In fact, I informed Tom that I would be spending the night over at Felicity's house, not bothering to mention that she lives on her own. 

Kashvi eyes me knowingly from where she sits in the parlor. "What is it, Gemma?" she asks in that kind way of hers.

"I was just wondering…" I trail off with a blush.

"You want to visit Kartik."

"Not exactly."

She looks up in surprise. "Then what do you have in mind?"

My heart thuds painfully in my chest. _What if she says no?_ "I want to spend the night with him."

Her mouth opens in surprise. She probably thinks me a whore, a nasty little harlot wishing only to deflower her son. This is a ridiculous thought, but it seems believable to me. "Very…well."

"Do you mean that?"

She turns away. "I am no longer in any positions to interfere. Do what you must." Her voice is distant. I realize that she must miss him as much as I do. I am selfish to think that I am the only one capable of worry.

I hover in the doorway for a moment. "Good night," I say finally, mounting the stairs behind me.

Her voice drifts softly from the parlor. "Good luck," she whispers.

Once in the confines of the master bedroom, I hurry to the bedside and check for the usual signs of life. My heart calms down once I feel the familiar heat of his skin, warm and reassuring.

"Kartik," I whisper, letting my lips brush against his as I speak. "I'm coming for you."

An unexpected thrill runs up my spine as I speak those words. I sense destiny approaching, finally, the only fate I care to believe in, to live for. I will be reunited with my Dignitary, my guardian, my lover. All of a sudden, something within my conscious snaps together, makes sense. The memories of this room bombard me, as if my past spirits are encouraging me. I look around, envisioning the union of two lovers entwined in this very bed, gasping each other's names. _Aurelia…Alexander…_

I spy Kartik's rucksack thrown carelessly against the base of the dresser. Something glimmering white sticks out of the opening. I pull it out and hold it up excitedly. It is the dress from the attic, the dress I loved, the dress I died in. He, Kartik, kept it for me, unsure whether we'd ever return to this house. The love in that simple gesture brings tears to my eyes.

I'd never felt so filled with such a feeling, a love so strong it survives centuries of murder and betrayal. I cry out, filled to bursting. I shall come undone by this.

In a frenzy, I strip down to my undergarments. I must wear that dress. The knowledge of Kartik's presence brings me no shame, for even if he could see, I'd have nothing to hide. I gaze upon his beautiful face, thinking of our first meetings as I pull the laces of my corset.

We hated each other once, as only true passionate people can hate. Always thrust up against a wall, bodies pressed together in a deadly snare. My corset falls to the floor. I pulls the pins from my hair and shake it loose, sending curls in a wild cascade down my back. He has seen me this way before, speaking to my mirror like a madwoman.

I slip from my chemise and untie my bloomers so that they fall to my ankles. I kick them away.

There is something about standing uncovered before Kartik that has an intense cathartic effect on me. I'm baring my body, and my soul, before him. What would it be like to crawl atop him right now, feel his warmth against my naked skin? I'm offering him a vulnerability he has always wanted, a chance to claim me as his own. _I'm already his._

"It won't be long, darling," I whisper as I slip the white dress over my head. It fits perfectly, despite my previous fears that it wouldn't. However, I am not content, and neither are the other spirits in my mind. I reach into a drawer and emerge with scissors.

I hack away at the dress in such a way I know I'd be shocked if I was in the right state of mind. I am not. I have an unfulfilled purpose growing in my core, and it's making me mad. Before I declare myself complete, I reach for my handbag and extract the bracelets given to me by my father. I no longer need to read the engravings on the bands; I already know what they say. _I change the world; the world changes me._

Each time I awake in this vast blanket of time, I open my eyes to the differences in the world around me. Society's path has twisted and turned more times than a lady's nervous fingers. Each time I exist, my spirit grows, is shaped, is changed. But at the end of the day I am simply the same as always, the same Gemma, Hypatia, Aurelia. I cannot hope to change unless I make the change.

I slip the bangles onto my wrists, unworried that they are far too big to be normal bracelets. I slide them up my arms and step before the mirror. I cannot recognize myself, and that pleases me.

"What do you think, Kartik?" I ask, twirling around. "I suppose you were right about that painting," I say, referring to the art book we studied that one night. "She is me."

With a satisfied smile, I summon the door of light and step inside.

* * *

The twisted wraiths were no match for the reunited Poppy Warriors. Their freedom has given them the will to fight valiantly alongside me. It wasn't long before the great screaming beast was brought to its feet as well. I stare a moment into its gaping black mouth, awestruck that I helped kill it. 

Boaz kicks it solidly. "I must say I'm impressed," he says. "Creatures were never this evil before our imprisonment."

"Sacrifices to the Winterlands," I explain. "Evil is quickly outweighing the good."

"And the Order?"

"I don't know," I confess. "I do not see them so willing to cooperate. But then again, I did not have much faith that the Rakshana would either."

A sudden vision of Gemma (Hypatia?) flashes before my eyes. She twirls in our bedroom. Aurelia? No. She calls me Kartik. _Gemma…_

Boaz sees the longing. "The Caves are not far, my Lord." He hands me my sword, polished of all blood and grime.

"Thank you," I say, bowing my head. "Perhaps…I should carry on alone."

* * *

"Asha!" I say breathlessly. 

"Most High," she says, startled as she takes in the sight of me, heaving for breath. My curls are a wild tangle and my cheeks blotchy from the effort of running. Her dark eyes linger on the bands on my arms.

We bow to each other. The blissful sound of the sighing rock eases my breathing and the stitch in my side. I straighten myself out in an attempt at dignity.

"I need…" I'm not quite sure how to verbalize what I need.

"I know," she answers. "Come here and sit." She leads me to a pile of cushions that I had not previously seen. My heart thunders with adrenaline. I want to see Kartik so badly.

I jump as something touches my hair. "Easy there, Most High, you cannot go on looking like this." I relax a bit as Asha runs a comb through my hair, pinning pieces back and curling locks around her fingers. "There. Have a look?"

A small gilded mirror is held in front of me. I spy my reflection curiously, regarding the fashion my hair has been arranged, held in place with a Grecian hair band, the likes of which I've seen in old paintings.

I nod in approval. "Thank you, Asha," I whisper.

"Are you ready?"

I stand. "Yes."

Asha smiles. "You know what to do."

We exchange bows once more. I turn and step through the sheet of water. The well lies before me, perfect and eternal. I do not need it now. I step around it and face the back wall. A fresco flaws the otherwise smooth stone; it is my life's story, and Kartik's, faintly illustrated in meticulous carvings. I place my hand upon it, flooding color into our stone faces. The wall shudders, and I pass through as if it is thin air.

Once my eyes settle to the odd source of light, my face breaks into a wide smile.

The room is vast, and every surface is milky white marble. Columns reach to the high ceiling, where a perfect circle is cut to allow an unhindered view of the sky. A full moon shines brightly directly overhead, throwing its light around for the marble to absorb. The entire room seems to glow, but I do not question it, nor do I question the moon. Such oddities are normal here.

The focal point of the room, despite the magnificent skylight into the heavens, is a large pool of water, not unlike the one I can remember from my distant path. All around, sheer curtains billow in a nonexistent breeze. A faint melody plays, its origin and tune indiscernible. This is a sacred place.

My senses resonate with the moonlight, the music, the sweet air, until I am entirely calm, entirely ready.

There is nothing left to do but wait.

For a long time I have wondered what it would be like to be a goddess. The desperate wishes of a schoolgirl are long gone. I know now what it is like. I am one, _the_ Goddess.

A figure stumbles into the room. I freeze, seeing only the armor of a Poppy Warrior. _Were they not locked away?_ The instinctive fear is gone in an instant when he removes his scarlet-plumed helmet and throws it to the floor. The clattering echoes softly.

He gazes at me intensely, his eyes aglow with every emotion in the world. His white tunic is streaked with blood and dirt, and it is clear that he is injured.

"Kartik…"

I step forward, a vision in white silk and gold jewelry. My amulet hangs reassuringly at my throat. He reaches up to softly stroke my cheek. I cup his hand against mine. All I can feel is the leather of his gauntlet. I pull it off hastily and reach for his other hand to do the same. Our fingers lace, our lips touch. My mind goes blissfully blank of all consequence.

Kartik pulls the rest of his clothing off before my unblinking eyes. He is built more gracefully than the best of Michelangelo's masterpieces. To say his body is that of a Grecian sculpture would be an understatement, for either the Greeks were modest artists, or Kartik is significantly better endowed than the average man. I cannot tear my eyes away from him. He is beautiful.

He looks at me expectantly. I smile and let the dress slip from my shoulders onto the floor. My hands instinctively fly together in front of my stomach, but I stop them and relax, and let him look. I have nothing to hide.

Kartik opens his mouth to speak, but find he has nothing to say. It is no matter – no words are needed. I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, stroking his skin and his hair. He presses against me, his skin warm and certain. We kiss deeply, backing up into the shallow end of the pool.

There is no escaping physical impairments. I trip clumsily and send us splashing into the water. It is neither hot nor cold, but it is perfect, a temperature seemingly unattainable on earth. Kartik sputters from inhaling a mouthful of water. It seems to have healing properties; the wounds on his arms knit together and close, leaving perfect skin behind.

I touch his arm lightly as he stares at it in awe. Our eyes meet, then our lips, followed closely by the entirety of our bodies pressed together. The only thing between us is the slick of water, creating a slippery, but pleasurable, effect. The water churns until we are not two separate entities, but one. We fuse together in body in mind, swirling our senses until his thoughts become mine, mine become his.

I am fill to bursting with him, but I shan't become undone by it. He makes me whole.

The water soon grows still again. We lay together near the edge, resting on the slope so that the water laps at our legs, but goes no further. Kartik's fingers tangle in my wet hair, arranging the locks in swirls upon my breasts. Our thoughts mingle and we converse in a mental language all our own. Such has always been our way.

**Aww! They did it! How cuuute! Considering the detail in AGATB, I don't consider this M-rating worthy. I kept it pretty docile. I still giggle at the Greek statue bit.**

**Almost finished!**

**Oi,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW! You know you love watery sex scenes. Especially when it's KARTIK that is slippery wet and -ahem- significantly better endowed than the average man. Ooh, I think I deserve a slap on the wrist for singing the praises of Kartik's nether regions! Naughty, naughty!**

**Remember our promise - you review, I stay up late to update!  
**


	26. Chapter 24

**Remember how I said my story pretty much writes itself? Well, this chapter is a prime example. Geez, was I surprised or what! Enjoy.**

I awake feeling cold. It takes me a moment to realize why – because the tangle of sheets left on the bed fail to cover more than my bare midriff. I blush and struggle to cover myself more, a difficult task considering the dark arm that is slung across my stomach, pinning me down.

I sigh and look at Kartik. He sleeps as peacefully as ever, thick eyelashes flirting with his cheekbones, moving ever so slightly as he dreams.

"Kartik," I whisper, placing a hand on his warm shoulder. I shake him gently, but he does not wake up. A sudden fear strikes me. Could it be that he still remains in the realms? "Kartik!" I say, more loudly this time.

A strangled, whimpering sound of protestation escapes his lips as he squeezes his eyes more tightly shut. No, he is not still in the realms, just very stubborn. He seems quite unwilling to wake up. I wonder what I can do to fix this.

I take his arm that still lies across me and move it so that his palm is cupped over my breast. He is awake in an instant as he gives me an experimental squeeze.

"Morning," he says, grinning shyly. He pulls me close to him and nuzzles my neck affectionately.

"Morning," I reply, kissing his temple gently. I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Last night I went to bed a lonely, confused girl. This morning, I awoke, a confident, complete woman. I've always had the potential, but Kartik has made me so. The two of us have both reached the level of spiritual maturity our fore-spirits have.

Kartik sits up and surveys the bedroom with a look of amusement upon his face. Our clothes are strewn about the room as if a tornado hit, and the bed sheets have been carelessly kicked to the floor. He gazes at me with a playful accusation in his eyes, as if it was my fault that the room is so messy.

"I hope we didn't wake anyone up," he says innocently. We are both far from innocence.

And yet, it doesn't bother me as I thought it might.

Last night, once we returned glowing from the magic and from love, we took one look at each other and could not resist getting to know each other all over again. It was a very different experience than in the temple. It was a bit awkward and a bit painful, but the taboo and promise of ecstasy surpassed that. To have Kartik on an earthly level is incredible.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, resting my head against the side of his hip.

He smirks. "As if you didn't already know."

I do know. "I want to hear you say it."

"I feel as if I could conquer the world. Hypothetically speaking, of course." He grins.

I stop running the backs of my fingers up and down his side and let my hand fall. "So why don't we?" He peers down at me curiously. "Conquer the world. Conquer Circe."

Kartik's fingers trail over my upper arms. "Are we ready?"

I roll over and reach for the bedside table. He follows me, leaning over so that I feel the warmth of his skin pressed against my back. I nearly forget what I'm looking for. I pluck the small red poppy from the nightstand and twist around to give it to him.

"You reconciled with them," I say softly, settling myself onto my back.

"I did," he says. He places the poppy back on the table and stretches himself next to me.

"Then I think we may be ready, Kartik." We share a smile and a sense of accomplishment drifts between us. I let my fingers trail lightly over his torso, but they do not stop where they would have before.

Kartik's eyes flicker down and back to mine, darkening with desire and longing. "Gemma," he murmurs huskily. "Do you know what I'm thinking now?"

My heartbeat skips more than a young girl in a meadow. I'm tracing circles with my fingers. My own need grows with his.

"Yes," I gasp. His lips press to mine, softly at first, but increasingly harder with each frantic heartbeat.

* * *

"Stop sulking," Amar scolds Simon. 

"I'm not," Simon grumbles.

"You are," Emily says, examining her fingernails. "It's very annoying."

Simon's eyes flare angrily, but Amar interjects before another fight breaks out. "Both of you, listen to me!" Emily and Simon shuffle their feet sheepishly. "There are many among us that do not wish to be slaves for this cause. We will meet -,"

"Hello Amar."

Amar rolls his eyes to the bloody sky and turns to the owner of the voice. "Hello Pippa."

She giggles and skips over to him. "What are you up to? Not scheming, I hope." She wraps her thin arms around his waist. "Because that would be very, very bad," she coos.

"Who sent you?" Simon asks.

Pippa pouts and squeezes Amar tighter. "Amar," she whines. "Can't they leave us alone?"

"Afraid not, Pippa," he sneers. Ideas suddenly form in his head. What better way to start off the rebellion than the murder of Circe's most obnoxious follower? Over her head, Amar's eyes meet with Simon's and Emily's. He looks down at Pippa and back up, contorting his face into a menacing snarl. They understand.

Amar's hand drifts to Pippa's throat. She takes it as a caress, and smiles at him in such a way that he freezes. He sees the telltale sign of affection, of _humanity_, and knows that there is still too much life in her, too much promise, to kill her. Guilty for his murderous thoughts, he continues to brush her cheek softly.

"Pippa," he says. "Aren't you tired of being used?" She bites her lip in thought. "You can break the addiction, you know."

"I have no addictions," she says stubbornly. The shred of goodness in her eyes remain.

"Let go of the hate. Do not fight the ones you love."

"They abandoned me!" she screeches.

Amar lets go of her. "You abandoned yourself. You cannot blame others for your own decisions."

Tears form in her muddled white eyes. "I hate you," she whispers to Amar. She turns on her heel and runs back from where she came. "I hate you!"

"No Pippa," he whispers under his breath. "You hate yourself."

"Why didn't you do it?" Simon asks from his perch on a large rock.

"There is still some life left," Amar replies. "I cannot take away her chance."

Simon scoffs. "Bloody Rakshana and their conception of _honor_." Amar ignores him.

Emily is very still, gazing after Pippa's minute form in the distance sadly. "I know how she feels," she says softly. "To be used, to feel abandoned. Poor girl."

Amar considers this. "Perhaps you can talk to her, bring her to our side?"

Emily is stricken, but her face softens back into pensive sympathy. "I'll try."

"Good."

* * *

"You have to pull harder," Gemma instructs, holding onto the bedpost. My fingers grasp her corset laces loosely. 

"I don't want to," I say flatly. Why should I suck the breath out of her?

She sighs in frustration. "You have to, else I won't fit into my dress."

I groan and tug the laces just a bit. "There," I say.

"More."

"You sadist." I pull a bit more firmly and stop as soon as I hear her sharp intake of breath. "That's it," I say, tying the laces with finality.

"Thank you," she says a bit too sweetly. I watch as she slips her dress on. My heart sinks a bit when the last of her skin is covered; I wish I could savor her forever.

She turns to me finally and grasps my hands. "Now comes the awkward part."

I exhale slowly with wide eyes. "Indeed. Awkward if we're lucky." I think of how my mother will react. Not well, I'm sure. She knows, she has to. "I hope you enjoyed this morning and last night, Gemma. It probably won't happen again."

She tilts her head in question.

"I'll most likely be castrated."

She laughs. "You will not."

I extend my hand. She grasps it. "Shall we?" I ask.

"We shall."

It takes us awhile to find my mother, for she is not in the house, but in the garden. And she is not alone. Gemma pulls her hand from mine, her face as white as a ghost. She looks upon the garden table in horror. Her family stares back, equally stricken, all while my mother hums pleasantly, as if there isn't a care in the world.

"Good morning," my mother chirps. "Care for some tea?"

I might drop dead.

"Excuse me," Gemma's grandmother says coldly. "_What_ is going on here?"

My mother smiles warmly. "Perhaps they would like to explain."

I feel betrayed. I don't know my mother's motives, but I do not like how it seems she is happy to watch us be eaten alive by sharks. I glance at Gemma, who is staring down her brother, pleading silently for help. He crosses his arms in defiance. It appears we are on our own.

"I," Gemma chokes. "I…uh."

The china clatters upon the table as Mrs. Doyle stands up abruptly. "I will not let my granddaughter associate with _heathens,_" she says sharply. She grabs Gemma's upper arm and yanks her away from me. "Come Gemma, we are going to church."

"No!" Gemma cries, pulling away. "I will not go to church!"

"Do not take that tone with me," her grandmother hisses. "You have been ruined." She casts a murderous glance at me. "You must pray for forgiveness!"

"Mrs. Doyle, please sit down and have another cup of tea," my mother says calmly. "Kartik, Miss Doyle, please sit."

Gemma and I take the seats in between Tom and my mother. Mrs. Doyle is fit to be tied. "You knew," she says accusingly to my mother. "How could you let this happen? She is recently debuted, starting her first season! Who will want her now?"

So that is what it is all about. They are worried because they can no longer exchange Gemma for a better reputation. Her well-being has nothing to do with it after all.

"I want her," I say brazenly.

Tom glares at me. "Like Hell you do. You want her inheritance," he spits venomously.

"Watch your tongue, Thomas," Mr. Doyle says sternly. It is the first thing he's said.

My mother sips her tea and sets the cup daintily on its saucer. "Our family is in no need of external funds. I am surprised you would accuse a prince of such a thing."

It is a wonder how a mere title can change one's view of you. Mrs. Doyle looks vaguely pacified. Gemma's father retains his subtle amused expression. And Tom…

"You never said he was a prince!" he whispers to Gemma.

"You never asked!" she replies.

"Scones?" my mother asks, holding up a basket. Gemma's father takes one and slathers it with Devon cream and jam.

He takes a bite and chews it thoughtfully. "I always thought Kartik was a good lad," he muses. "Gemma, precious, I did not know you were spending so much time with him. You should have said something."

"What could I have said?" she asks quietly. "You'd forbid me from seeing him, as I'm sure you will now."

"Now, now, let's not be hasty," Mrs. Doyle says. Now that I am a prince in her eyes, I am also worthy of a second chance.

My hand finds Gemma's under the table. Hers is cold and clammy. The table falls silent, no one wanting to ask the inevitable question.

Mr. Doyle is the brave one. "Kartik," he says, looking me straight in the eye. "Is there any reason for worry?" He swallows hard. "A necessary engagement, perhaps?"

My breath catches in my throat. I can sense Gemma doing the same, in fact, the whole table anxiously awaits my answer.

"Yes," I say. It hangs in the air. Tom is the first to react. He drops his head into his hands shamefully.

"You promised, Gemma," he moans softly. "You lied."

Gemma is silent. I feel wretched for compromising her so. Last night, it seemed a necessity, but now…perhaps I could have prevented this. But there is no going back.

"Excuse me," Tom says, standing and hurrying for the house. Gemma bites her lip and gazes at him in worry.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Doyle says. "Don't mind him. A friend of his just passed away recently. Thomas has not quite recovered from the shock." She sips her tea. "So your son is a prince? Would that make my granddaughter become a princess?"

Gemma stands suddenly. "Is that all you care about, Grandmama? Wealth and reputation?"

"Gemma!" her grandmother admonishes. "Do sit down!"

She doesn't. With a last resentful look towards her grandmother, Gemma runs to the house and to her brother.

I stare at my empty plate, feeling all eyes on me. Do they expect me to run after her? Should she not have a bit of privacy with her brother? Slowly, the conversation between my mother and Mrs. Doyle resumes.

"Kartik," Mr. Doyle says. He has shifted himself to the empty seat next to me.

"Yes, Mr. Doyle?"

"Can you be honest with me for a moment?"

"Of course, sir."

He twists his napkin in his hands. "Do you love my daughter?"

My face softens. Perhaps it was the mention of Gemma, or perhaps the earnest expression on his face that has caused this. "More than anything," I say.

He nods. "And she loves you?"

I smile. "She has told me so many times before."

He sits back, visibly relieved. "I could never picture Gemma as a society wife. She is a free spirit, like her mother."

"She is," I agree.

He sizes me up for a moment. "Make her happy, my boy."

"I promise I will."

He claps me on the back. I cannot help but feel completely confused.

* * *

"Tom, please talk to me," I say softly. 

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Tom…"

"First you didn't go to Simon's funeral. And now you lie to us and sleep with our old coachman. Brava, Gemma. Glad to see you have your priorities straight."

This must be terrible for Tom. Simon was his best friend, and almost was his brother-in-law. Now he is dead, and I haven't shown any remorse whatsoever.

"I'm sorry, Tom."

"No you aren't!" He glares at me angrily. "You made a promise, Gemma. You betrayed me."

"You don't know the whole story," I say.

"I don't want to know any more."

"Fine then. Be miserable." I turn to leave.

Tom groans. "Don't go."

"Why should I stay?"

"What happened to you Gemma? You used to be so…"

"Obedient?" I snap. "Miserable? Does it bother you that I am happy with Kartik because he is Indian and therefore not deserving of any respect?"

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Don't forget where you came from, Tom," I say sternly. "You were raised among Indians and all of them were lovely people. I love Kartik, no matter what his race is. I loved him before I knew he was a prince. I'd love him still if he wasn't. Perhaps you would find love too if you'd stop rejecting every girl who is not rich and beautiful."

Toms mouth hangs open in shock.

"We have enough hate in this world, Tom. Give people a chance."

"Y-you're right," he stammers weakly after a few moment's silence. "How could I have been so shallow? Even Simon did not treat people this way." Tom's face crumples. "How could I have been so _stupid_?"

I sigh and embrace him. "Because you _are _stupid, Tom. But I love you all the same."

**LOL. Sorry, I'm very tired. See? Good author for staying up to write!**

**Blah my God I want to finish this story so badly. It is SO LONG! The longest story in the fandom, by my account. Jeebus. Nearly at 400 reviews. 400!!! Ludicrous. Golly. Wowzers. I am honored beyond belief! Jubilation!**

**Visions of Kartik's naked bum dancing in her head,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review! Please. Pretty please with Kartik on top. Yummy yummy. Author is tired. Author go to sleep now. Please leave reviews for her to wake up to!  
**


	27. Chapter 25

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews! They make me happy. Enjoy!**

"They're mad, the lot of them."

"I couldn't agree more," Kartik replies. We sit side by side, dazed, as our families talk excitedly about future plans. They wish to marry us off, and cast us into the spotlight to be envied – a wealthy English girl and an Indian prince, it couldn't be more fashionable. Grandmama also exclaims ignorantly that it shall a step forward for our country's ties with India, though what Kartik's family has to do with the Indian government, I do not know.

Kashvi bursts out into an uncontrolled, yet still ladylike and tinkling, laughter at something my father has said. Kartik's eyes widen at his mother's outburst.

"Let's get out of here," he whispers to me.

"Gladly," I respond.

"Where are you going?" Kashvi asks as we try to sneak out of the garden.

"We were just going to take a walk," Kartik says rather formally.

"Absolutely not," say both Kashvi and my grandmother at the same time. More laughter breaks out at the table.

"Thomas, go with them," my father orders with a wave of his hand.

Tom gets up begrudgingly and follows us to the front of the house. "So where exactly are we going?" he asks.

Kartik glances at me. "Well, you don't really have to come if you don't want to."

Tom raises an eyebrow. "Oh, I think I do."

"We were just going to call on Miss Worthington and Miss Bradshaw," I say.

"Lovely," Tom says stiffly, clearly recalling the unpleasant drama surrounding Ann. I briefly wonder if his new outlook on the value of people will change his opinions about Ann, give her another chance perhaps.

No one makes an effort to move; we're standing around like loiterers on our own property. Tom looks at Kartik pointedly. "Well?"

"Well what?" Kartik looks at him disdainfully. I haven't a clue why.

"How shall we be arriving at our destination? Have you a carriage, or will we be flying on a magic carpet?"

"Tom!" I exclaim. So much for our conversation about looking past appearances.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me." He doesn't try to mask the ice in his voice.

"You're forgiven," Kartik says stonily. I fear they'll never get along.

"How did you get here Tom?" I ask, certain that we can borrow the carriage from home.

"We took a hansom."

"Then a hansom we shall take again."

We ride in uncomfortable silence, perhaps more so than when Kartik and I rode with Felicity. The entire ride I can sense daggers being thrown in glances over my head. I mentally chastise Kartik, but he doesn't cease.

"Gemma," Tom blurts out. "This isn't the way to the Worthington's."

"No, it isn't," I say calmly.

"Then where are you taking me?" His voice is so thick with worry that it sickens me.

"To the cemetery, Tom," I say. "We're going to sacrifice you for the sake of witchcraft."

Kartik snickers under his breath, but Tom doesn't find my jibe so funny. "Honestly, Gemma. Could you be any more childish?"

"Honestly, Tom. Could you be any more of a dolt?"

"Gemma!"

"Felicity and Ann let an apartment, Tom! We're going there!" I cry out in exasperation.

He considers confronting me about my tone, but thinks better of it for the sake of curiosity. "Miss Worthington isn't living with the admiral?" he asks, shocked.

"No," I say simply.

"Why not? Did something happen?"

_No, Tom, the admiral only sexually abused her for her entire life. Nothing to worry about. _I cannot say that, and I won't. "It appears you're falling behind on your gossip, Tom," I chide.

His cheeks flush and he falls silent. Kartik gives me an odd look. With a jolt of panic I realize he caught what I thought about Felicity. Though we do not communicate with words directly, the complexity of the emotions we exchange make it simple to attribute words with the meanings.

_Did Admiral Worthington really…?_

_Yes._

_That explains a lot._

_It does, doesn't it?_

_I actually feel rather sorry for her._

_Yes, well don't you dare let her know._

_I won't._

Kartik gives me a small smile, which I return out of instinct, forgetting…

"What are you two so happy about? Planning on ditching me somewhere?"

"What's gotten into you, Tom?" I'm terribly embarrassed that he's acting up this way in front of Kartik.

Tom rubs at his forehead. "It's nothing, I've just had a bad headache lately."

The word 'headache' is a red flag. "What sort of headache, Tom?" My voice sounds high and fearful. If it's probing and throbbing in the temples then I may know the cause.

"Oh you know, right between the eyes, that awful sinus headache I always get." Kartik and I both exhale in relief. This doesn't go unnoticed by Tom. "What?" he asks suspiciously.

"Nothing Tom," I say, resting my head against his bony shoulder. "I love you dearly, you must know that."

He shifts away. "Gemma, you're acting strange."

"She_ is_ strange," Kartik says. Tom glances at him in surprise and they both share a rare smile at my expense.

"Yes, quite right, let's pick on Gemma," I say, pouting for effect.

Tom pats my hand effeminately. "I love you dearly, you must know that," he mocks. Kartik laughs. Oh well, at least they've found some grounds for bonding.

When we arrive at the apartment building where Felicity and Ann live, I feel a stab of guilt for not visiting sooner. I've been a wretched friend in my preoccupation with my own life.

"Gemma!" Felicity throws her arms around me shortly after we ring the bell. I return her embrace warmly. "Come in; we've just made tea!" She ushers us all in to the rather lavishly decorated apartment, done very much in the style of Felicity Worthington. Peacock feathers adorn every crystal vase, and silver-stamped paper lines the walls.

"We have our very own tea set!" Ann exclaims excitedly. She notices Tom standing in the doorway and blushes, setting down the tray while trying to maintain her dignity.

I notice that large prints of art depicting various goddesses hang from gilded frames. Felicity sidles up to me. "We've done our research," she says smugly. She points to a painting of a fierce, pale-haired woman that very much resembles her. "There's Artemis, goddess of the hunt." She gives me a secretive smile. "And this is Durga, Sakhmet, and Ishtar." She gestures to three smaller frames depicting brightly-colored deities from the East. "Oh! And this one!" She points to a wild-looking woman in a lush, green heath. "Epona. Her father was human, but her mother was a mare." Felicity nudges me and lifts her eyebrows suggestively.

"How scandalous," I giggle.

"So what brings you here this fine day?" Ann asks as we sit down to tea. She purposely avoids Tom's gaze, not that he looks. I want to hit him for not looking at her.

"We're escaping," Kartik says.

"Escaping?"

"From our families," he elaborates.

"Why?" Felicity asks.

"They're marrying us off I believe," I say offhandedly. I pretend to be very interested in the tea sandwich I picked from the tray.

"They're _marrying _you off?" From the corner of my eye I can see her small grey eyes grow as large as saucers.

"My, isn't this a pretty color green?" I pick at the watercress in my sandwich.

"Oh dear, there seems to be a rip in my…bodice. Will you help me, Gemma?" Felicity takes me by the wrist rather unorthodoxly, leaving Ann behind with Tom. I catch Kartik's eye and silently plead with him to make Ann feel comfortable. Suddenly she is roped into a conversation about theatre.

"What is it?" I ask once we are out of earshot.

"There's something different about you." Felicity cocks her head and walks around me, staring intently. "You look…different," she says lamely.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say delicately, even though I know exactly what she is talking about.

She senses this and breaks out into a smile. "You _didn't_."

"Didn't what?" I feign innocence.

"He was trapped in the realms yesterday, but he is practically glowing with health today. You _didn't_!"

I blush.

"Gemma, you _did_! I can't believe you!" She slaps me playfully on the arm. "What was it like?"

"What was what like?" Ann appears in the doorway. She glances at me. "You look different," she says flatly.

Felicity whoops gleefully. "I told you so!"

"How do I look different?" I ask, mortified. I run to the mirror, but cannot see anything.

"It's in the eyes," Felicity says mysteriously. "I can see…_experience_."

Ann is confused. "What do you mean? What did Gemma do?" Her mouth drops open once she speaks those words. "Gemma, you _didn't_."

"She did!" Felicity is beside herself.

"What was it like?" Ann asks curiously.

"Oh God!" I cover my face with my hands.

"That good, eh?" Felicity searches for more ways to humiliate me. She succeeds. "How big was it?"

"Nooo! I'm not listening to this!"

"Come on Gem, be a sport!"

"Yes Gemma, tell us!" Now Ann won't get off my case either.

I uncover my face. "I shan't tell you anything," I say huffily. I smooth down my skirts and return to the table.

Kartik welcomes me with a wide smile as I take my seat next to him. I ignore Felicity and Ann as they sit across from me. They desperately try to catch my eye. Instead, I reach for another sandwich.

"Lovely weather," Tom says to break the silence. He is the odd one out – the only person present who doesn't understand the problems of the realms.

"Quite," I chirp. Across from me, Felicity holds up a long-handled tea spoon in such a way that suggests measurement. A strangled noise like a dying animal escapes my lips. She shrugs and places the spoon back on the table.

Kartik drains his glass of water. "Miss Bradshaw was just telling me about an upcoming audition she has."

"Oh?" I ask with genuine interest. "Tell me about it, Ann."

She blushes. "Oh, it's not much. It's for the role of Viola in Twelfth Night," she says with a hint of pride.

"You'll blow them away, Ann," I say fondly. I am so proud of her. Of both of them. I'm happy to call them my friends.

Felicity stands suddenly and exits the room. I consider briefly going after her, but as quick as she had left, she returns. With a large rolling pin in her hands. She holds it up in the same fashion as the tea spoon, and raises her eyebrows suggestively. I nearly spit out my tea.

"Are you alright, Gemma?" Tom asks with concern.

I managed to nod as I cough violently. Kartik looks from me to Felicity, still holding the rolling pin. She winks at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his head.

_She must be joking._

_She's not._

_That's inhuman!_

_That's wishful thinking._

_"..." _

_On her part at least. I like you just fine._

_Nice to know I'm satisfactory._

_You're better than that._

_Am I?_

_You're perfect._

_I can't compete with a rolling pin..._

I snort with laughter, drawing odd looks from everyone except Kartik.

"Gemma, what on earth?" Tom starts.

"I have some business to discuss," I say quickly to change the subject. "I'd like to visit the realms and speak with Philon and the others, to make sure we still have their allegiance."

Ann glances at Tom nervously. "Um, what are you talking about?"

"It's alright Ann. I told Tom about Circe and the realms. _Speaking _of which…" I turn and smile at Kartik. "We have regained very important allies from centuries ago, thanks to Kartik."

"Who?" asks Felicity.

"The Poppy Warriors," I say.

"How did he manage that?"

"Ask him yourself."

Felicity stares pointedly at Kartik. He sighs and leans back in his chair. "I won them over with my charm and incredible wit."

She doesn't crack a smile. "No, how did you _really _do it?"

Kartik closes his eyes as if in pain. I feel images of the dark cathedral, an iron cross, and the taste of blood. He speaks slowly. "It was nothing more than fate and a bit of quick thinking. That was all it took."

"I see." Felicity is uninterested. She wanted to hear of blood and gore, not compromise.

"So when are we going to the realms?" Ann asks timidly. I notice that she's left her teacakes untouched, and drapes her napkin over them gracefully. I wonder if this is because of Tom or perhaps a new lifestyle for her. I hope for the latter, though I suspect the former must be true.

"How about now?" I stand up and watch as everyone else follows. Kartik's eyes drift from me to Tom. "Tom, would you like to come?"

"Where exactly are we going?"

"To another world."

"How do we get there?"

"Like this. Everyone, join hands." In a brief moment's time, the door of light appears, brightly shining in the middle of the room.

Tom's mouth drops open. "Did you do that, Gemma?" he asks incredulously.

I reach forward and open the door so that we can all pass through. "What do you think, dear brother?"

He looks around in disbelief. "I'm dreaming, I must be."

"You're not," Felicity says. "This is very real."

"Yes," Ann agrees. She is suddenly the beautiful mirror of herself, happy and shining.

"Wish for something," Felicity prompts.

Tom closes his hands together and when he opens them, an engraved gold pen rests in his palm. Typical.

"Mother would be so proud of you," I whisper. His face falls.

"I had forgotten that she was a part of this," he murmurs. "Do you think she would have minded that I know?"

"No. She would be happy to let you in on such a beautiful secret."

"Gemma?" Tom asks, his voice thick and strangled. "When Mother told us stories before bed, was she talking of this place?"

"Yes."

"A place where all of one's dreams come true…" he says wistfully. I notice that he is gazing at Ann.

"Shall we summon the gorgon?" Felicity asks. A sapphire pendant sits at her throat.

"In a bit," I say. "Let Tom have his fun."

Felicity links arms with me. "So you really won't tell me, will you?"

Ah, this again. "What is it that you want to know?" I ask, exasperated.

Her eyes glitter. "How was it, what did it feel like, how many times, and how big?"

I sigh in resignation. "It was incredible, it felt I was melting from the inside out, in a good way mind you, and three times."

She shrieks with laughter. "But how big?"

I hold up my fingers with an approximate measurement. Out of the corner of my mind I can see Kartik smacking his forehead in disbelief.

Felicity nudges me. "Go get him," she says wickedly.

In a gleeful moment, I pick up my skirts and sprint at Kartik, leap onto him, and promptly knock him to the ground.

"Oi!" he shouts, laughing as we roll against the grass.

"Tom?" A familiar voice makes my blood run cold. Tom looks up and pales. "Doyle, old boy, it _is _you!"

Tom swallows hard. "Simon?"

**Woah. OMG woah. IDK, my BFF Rose? Oh LOL I am losing my mind. Truly. **

**I have a bazillion things to do, but I'm so very kind to update,  
LunaEquus**

**So very very kind, don't you think? Perhaps you'd like to tell me in a review? Remember our compromise, dear ones. ILU ALL!!!**


	28. Chapter 26

**Well last chapter was comic relief, so this one may draw tears. It did for me while I was writing the sad bit. Ah, foreshadowing. Enjoy!** **Oh yeah, and the italicized bits are mentalspeak. Yeah.**

Simon Middleton's heart leaps when he sees his old friend standing in the garden next to the charity case that made a mockery of the well-to-do. He ignores the sight of Gemma sprawled most unladylike on top of the Indian coachman and crosses the plush grass to Tom.

"Simon?" Tom asks, dumbfounded. "I thought you were…"

Simon laughs bitterly. "Oh yes, I'm quite dead. But I've been recruited for evil and haven't been able to cross over." Tom's mouth hangs open. "Don't look so confused, Doyle. You should know by now that the afterlife is not quite what we were taught in church."

"What are you doing here?" Gemma demands, now standing and poised. Her eyes hold that bright gleam of inner charisma that Simon loves. He swears he can feel his heart break all over again, but he's not entirely sure that he still has a heart. Do things like that still work in the realms?

"Amar sent me," Simon explains, averting his eyes from Gemma to Kartik. "He sensed your arrival and wishes to speak with his brother." He feels a surge of rage when Gemma clasps Kartik's hand and whispers something to him like only a lover would do. _This is not my place. Gemma doesn't belong to me. I am of another world now. _But try as he might to reassure himself, Simon wonders if he'd ever have had the chance to steal her away if he'd survived.

"Alright," Kartik says after deliberation. "But Gemma shall come with me." She nods, as if settling the matter.

"Very well," Simon says. "Amar says you know where to find him." They stare blankly at him. "I do not know where he is."

Gemma and Kartik share a look of confusion. They duck off to the water's edge to contemplate Amar's location.

Simon smiles despite his sadness and turns back to Tom. "So, have you found a potential wife yet?"

* * *

"Where on earth could he be?" I ask, frustrated.

Gemma leans against me and rests her head on my shoulder. "He's in the realms," she says.

"Yes, that is quite obvious."

"But you asked where on earth he could be. Well, he is not on earth at all. Your search would be fruitless."

"I don't see how you find this so funny," I say sourly. She shakes with silent laughter against me.

"I've gotten the notion that Amar isn't the most serious of men," she replies, kicking at the water. It swirls away from her foot, revealing the rocky bottom of the riverbed. "Well that's rather interesting," she muses, staring at the water. She moves her foot experimentally and sighs as the water moves away. "It appears I'm water repellent."

I watch as Gemma stands and hops into the river. The water walls up around her so that she remains dry in the center. "I never knew I fell in love with Moses," I joke halfheartedly.

"Now!" Someone shrieks from the garden. There is a roaring rush as the river water settles back into its place, drowning Gemma beneath it. She surfaces angry and sputtering, her hair a red mess over her face. Laughter erupts from the garden, but I'm in no mood to join in.

I offer Gemma a hand and pull her out of the river. Her cheeks practically glow from embarrassment and rage. "Ignore them," I whisper. Surprisingly, she does just that. With a wave of her hand, she is dry.

"Let's take a ride with the gorgon," Gemma says huffily. "She may know where Amar is."

I freeze. _The gorgon. _"Gemma," I say, taking hold of her shoulders. "You're brilliant."

She blinks, puzzled. "I am?"

I press my lips to hers, kissing her firmly. "You are. The gorgon. My brother is sure to be with the gorgon."

Her fingertips rest at my throat. "What makes you so certain?"

"When we were younger, he used to threaten me into doing things that I didn't want to do. He'd say 'If you don't drink your sharbat, the gorgon will come for you.'" I grin at the memory. Amar knew I was afraid of the gorgon ever since I started studying mythology.

Gemma laughs. "You believed him?"

"Of course I did. He was all I had. I believed everything he said."

Gemma's lips turn down slightly. She feels the dull ache of residing pain that I've carried with me since Amar's death. "You'll have to tell me more about him someday," she whispers. "I should like to know what it was like for you as a child."

"I will." My fingers entwine with hers.

"This must be so hard for you," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"We all have our trials. This too shall pass."

She laughs sadly. "My mother always used to say that. _This too shall pass_."

"It's true."

"I know."

"So where might we find the gorgon?" I ask to steer away from the inevitable grieving for both of us.

Gemma frowns. "She's always found us."

"I see."

"We walk along the river until we find her. She is bound to the water after all."

"Sounds like a plan." I watch as Gemma excuses herself and runs to tell her friends where we are going. Simon eyes her greedily, but I pay no mind. Instead, I fixate my attention on the shining red head that is my Gemma. She flits about her brother and friends, and for a moment I feel left out, like I did when I used to watch her at Spence.

But the feeling quickly passes as she returns to me with a dazzling smile and enthusiastic gleam to her eyes. Like the bright-eyed Athena guided Telemachos, Gemma is my living goddess, my muse, my everything.

"I love you," I whisper to her.

Her green eyes grow soft and widen. "I love you too." She rests a hand on my cheek.

It is a tender moment cut short by the ever-present antics of Miss Worthington. "Oh Gemma, I'm certain you won't find the gorgon by mooning into Kartik's eyes!" she exclaims.

Gemma blushes. "I wasn't mooning into his eyes, Felicity!" Still, Gemma has been properly humiliated. "Let's go," she says quietly.

We walk in silence down the bank of the river until we are out of sight of the others. Gemma turns to me, a hopeful glint in her eyes. I know what she wants, but my anxiety has grown since we've left the calming nature of the garden. Like always, she reads me like a book.

"You're upset," she says.

"Not quite."

"Anxious, I mean. About your brother." I don't say anything, but she knows she is right. "You cannot worry about him Kartik. He is not the brother you knew in life. Even if he isn't corrupted…" _You cannot trust him. He has been here too long._

"I know, Gemma. Nobody understands that better than I." _But that is not why I'm upset._

_Then why?_

_He continues to exist._

_I don't understand._

"My brother knew of the realms. He would have wanted to cross over." _But now that he hasn't…The fact that he stills exists is an insult to his memory. Amar's good intentions are being twisted by the mere fact that he remains here. _"But now he will never get the chance to cross."

Gemma brushes her lips across mine. "I will do all I can to see to it that he does."

"Is that even possible?" Even with my doubts, my heart fills with hope.

She smiles. _I am Lady Hope. All you have to do is believe in me._

_I do. _

_Then perhaps I can make it happen._

"You're incredible," I breathe, pulling her to me. "That is all I can wish for."

She is quiet for a moment. "I want to help them. All of them. Even Circe."

I quiet her with a finger. _She may have spies listening._

_You're right._

_You look worried._

_I have been wondering…perhaps Circe is not the end of it._

_She isn't. There are the trackers and her army and Miss Cross as well._

Gemma bites her lip. _I fear there is more than that. We may have to strike at the core. Perhaps we should bypass Circe and aim for the Winterlands themselves._

_Is that possible?_

_I don't know. _Tears well up in Gemma's eyes. _I don't think I can do this, Kartik. It's too much._

_Gemma… _I stroke her hair helplessly. _We can do this. It's why we were reborn. _

_I don't think we can! This can't be all there is to life. It isn't fair._

_No, it isn't. _

Something strikes me from her words. We were put here on earth for some ultimate plan. But what happens when we complete the task we were instructed to do? Or will we never achieve it, and continue this endless circle of rebirth, loving, grieving, and dying? It's terribly unfair.

"Let's carry on," I suggest.

"There is nothing else we can do," she grumbles.

We continue to walk in silence.

We reach an area where the river is shallow and turbulent. "Gemma, I don't think the gorgon is here."

She collapses on a large rock in a huff. "This is ridiculous. How hard can it be to find a ship with the head of a monster?"

"Extremely." I sit next to her on the boulder. "Shall we just head back?"

"Your brother needs to speak with you."

"Well, apparently it is not important, or else he would have told me where to find him."

"This is madness." Gemma slumps forward and places her face in her hands. Her red curls fall around her like a curtain.

An irregular whooshing sound reaches my ears. "Gemma," I say, standing and peering down the river. "I believe your gorgon is about to find us."

Her head snaps up. "Oh thank heavens," she says, exhaling. She joins me by the riverbed. "Yes, that is the gorgon."

The great ship pulls up to us and Gemma goes to greet the monster. I am about to follow her, but a greater matter presses.

"Kartik, you've come." Amar gazes down at me from the ship's deck. It pains me to see that after all this time, he nearly looks the same as he had in life. "Come aboard."

I glance at Gemma, who meets my gaze. "Gorgon, lower the plank please," she says.

"As you wish, Most High." The plank is lowered and we climb aboard.

Amar grins and bows to Gemma. "Have you been taking good care of my little brother?"

She slips her arm through mine. "I hope so." _Kartik, he looks so much like you._

_Does he?_

_You have the same smile._

_I suppose we do._

"What is it you need to discuss with me?" I refrain from calling him by name. It is all I can do not to refer to him as my brother.

He glances at Gemma. "I'd have preferred to speak with you alone first. Out of respect for the Goddess."

I feel Gemma panic. "You may address us both," I say awkwardly. I do not like holding authority over him.

"Very well. I wanted to ask your permission to propose an alliance with the High Priestess."

Gemma grips my arm. _Should we trust him?_

_I'm not sure._

_Can this be a trick? The gorgon is on our side._

_Are you sure of that?_

_I thought so. _

"Why should we trust you?" I look him straight in the eye.

His face softens. "Miss Doyle, do you recall the day I was taken?"

"Yes," she says apprehensively.

"And the day your friend Miss Cross passed away?"

"Yes…"

"Then you agree that I have spent a considerably longer time in the realms. The Winterlands, no less."

"I do not see where you are going."

"What did I look like the day I died? And what do I look like now?" he asks quietly. "Your friend looks very different, doesn't she? She is corrupted."

"But magic can be used to hide signs of corruption," I cut in.

He regards me sadly. "Not anymore. The magic has been bound."

"But what about Circe? She doesn't show signs of corruption."

"She has dark magic at her disposal from the many sacrifices she has made. I have not made any sacrifices."

"But how do we know that you're not…"

"Lying?" Amar approaches Gemma, who draws back. "My Lady, you have the power to take any magic that I possess. Take my hands and try to do just that."

Reluctantly, Gemma takes Amar's hands and closes her eyes. There is a pregnant moment in which their hands glow white-hot, but then she releases him and opens her eyes. "He has no magic. He's telling the truth."

I feel a surge of relief. Amar (I cannot help but recognize him as my brother now) smiles uncertainly. "I have been leading a group of spirits taken, like me, against their will. There will be a revolt against Circe, whether or not you want to time yours accordingly."

Gemma bites her lip again and looks around nervously. "She can have spies anywhere."

Surprisingly, Amar is unworried. "Why do you think I chose the gorgon as a meeting place? She shall protect us from unwanted guests." He laughs heartily and slaps the rail of the ship. "Let's sit up by this old lady."

We follow him to the front, were we sit alongside the gorgon. I peer curiously up at her, a magnificent specimen. Without warning, she swivels her great head to stare back at me. As I look into her large lamp-like eyes, I wonder how easily she could turn me to stone, or if she can at all.

"May I help you?" she asks.

"Oh, sorry," I say.

Gemma mentally chides me. _Staring isn't very polite, you know._

_She's not exactly something you'd see every day._

_Yes, but she still has feelings._

_I wasn't being rude._

_Staring is rude._

_Yes, but my intentions were not to be rude._

_But you still were._

"I apologized," I hiss to Gemma under my breath. She sighs and shakes her head.

"Kartik, may I ask about your intentions for this battle?"

"I…"

_Tell him nothing._

"I'm not exactly sure."

Gemma pats my arm in thanks. "We are still gathering our allies," she says. "I sent my friends to visit Philon and the centaurs."

_When did you send them?_

_Before we left, I asked them to meet with Philon and inquire if our alliance still stands. _

_I see._

"Asha and the other Hajin are also on our side, as well as the Rakshana and the Poppy Warriors," Gemma says. She squeezes my arm.

Amar is impressed. "The Poppy Warriors? I'm proud of you, Kartik." He smiles warmly. "_And _the Rakshana. Tell me, have you changed our father's mind as well?"

"You knew about…?"

"Yes. Terribly unfortunate," he says with the enthusiasm of someone watching grass grow. "Unfortunate that we are his sons, that is, not that he's refusing to acknowledge you as our leader. He is worthless."

I am surprised. "You dislike him as well?"

Amar laughs bitterly. "Kartik, if you had known what I went through, you'd know that _dislike_ doesn't begin to convey my feelings towards him. Imagine being treated like gold for the first twelve years of your life, led on to believe you were some sort of god that will save the day. I was the apple of his eye, cherished and spoiled without shame. Then the ink did not hold and on my thirteenth birthday I was disowned."

"Disowned?" My ears ring in disbelief.

"Yes. He couldn't bear to have a 'worthless' son. He threw me to common training and retreated into his shell of worthlessness. He didn't even care to have any part in raising you, such was his embarrassment in favoring a boy that was not of any importance."

"But you were his son!" Gemma exclaims in horror. "How could you _not _be important to him?"

Amar sighs. "Our father was the most elitist bastard I have ever known. He believed in the strength of purity, following the rules of the Rakshana as if they were written by God himself. He resented that he had to marry, especially to one of the Order. Despite all claims, he never loved our mother, nor did he love us. We were all tolerated, a necessity for a cause that he didn't believe in. I have heard that he was threatened into marrying our mother, else he'd be kicked from the Rakshana."

Somehow, this doesn't surprise me. I only grieve for my mother, who is so good to have loved him for the sake of us, her sons.

"Do me a favor and kill him, will you Kartik?" Amar sneers. I somehow don't think this is a joke.

"The only person we will be killing is Circe," Gemma says quietly.

"Yes," says Amar. "And I still wish to help you."

"I will have to think on it," she says.

"Please do."

The garden comes into view, but it is empty. Gemma's friends must still be on their quest to speak with Philon.

"Miss Doyle, may I tell you something?" A wicked smile spreads on Amar's face.

"Of course," she says, taken aback. She blinks slowly. Against the bright sunset, her long eyelashes glow.

"My brother tends to talk in his sleep. If you're lucky enough to be present, you can even hold conversations with him."

I feel my face grow hot as Gemma's face lights up. "Really? What sort of things does he say?"

"He once entertained me with a discussion about flying rabbits. He was quite upset about it, as I recall."

Gemma turns to me with a gleeful expression. "Better watch out for those flying rabbits, darling." Amar snickers.

"We've arrived, Most High," the gorgon interrupts, allowing me to save face.

"We should go," Gemma says to Amar.

"Of course. May I just say one more thing?"

"Certainly."

"I'm so happy that you found my brother. I wouldn't want it any other way." He smiles sadly. "I just…I'm a bit sad that now someone knows him better than I do." His lip quiver slightly and his eyes grow glassy, but he remains fixated on Gemma. "I love my brother so much, but now I cannot be a part of his life. And now, he must see me as an enemy…"

"I don't," I say. The lump in my throat aches.

Tears shimmer on Amar's cheeks. "Kartik, I am so sorry for all of this. I wish I could be with you. I wish I was…alive again. I can't bear it here any longer, being held against my will. I need to know that you'll be alright."

The plank lowers and Amar looks at it almost fearfully. I cannot help it. Tears stream freely down my own cheeks now. I would do anything for Amar to live again. But instead he is trapped here, a shadow of his former self.

"I will be alright when you are," I say. My voice comes out strangled and weak but I do not care.

"I want to cross over," he chokes.

"I know."

He embraces me tightly for a moment. "Do what you must," he instructs. "Gather allies, and prepare yourselves. Then please help me destroy her."

"We'll try," Gemma whispers. I notice her eyes are not free of tears either.

Amar nods curtly. "You will know where to find me."

"We will," I say.

Gemma and I step down from the ship and retreat to the safety of the garden. I am glad for the privacy, for I have not yet been able to stop the flow of tears. Gemma bids me to place my head in her lap so that she may try her best to soothe me.

"We have to help him," I say shakily.

She strokes my hair slowly. "I know, Kartik."

"This whole time," I weep. "My poor brother." I am overwhelmed with the sorrow from his words, from his disownment to his imprisonment here. And how through it all, he always had a smile on his face for me, always strong and sure. "Dear God," I say. "We have to help him."

"We will," Gemma says. I study her face as she looks off into the distance. Her eyes hold strength and determination. They give me hope. Of course they do. Lady Hope. It all fits. "I promise."

**So sad!!! Poor Kartik and Amar! **

**I'm tired. I hate my roommate. Dear God I'm trying to get her to move out. You should see my room. MESSY AND DELIGHTFULLY SO.**

**Is being passive regressive and has pictures on Facebook to prove it,  
LunaEquus**

**Thanks uber much to reviewers! Maybe some crazy magic will drive out my roommate. Like, the more you review, the more she wants to leave. Anyone care to try it? LOL. Please!**


	29. Chapter 27

**Another chapter. Second to last, I think. Enjoy! (Yes, you will probably be confused, and yes, that is partly intentional)**

"We're back!" Felicity calls as she emerges from the thick forest. Ann follows closely behind, with Simon and Tom just after.

"How did it go?" I ask, detangling my fingers from Kartik's hair. He sits up quickly and all traces of crying vanish from his cheeks.

"Well," Felicity sits down in a huff. "I think we're ready to kick Circe once and for all." She smiles proudly.

"You mean…"

"Yes, we have Philon's allegiance, _and _the centaurs as well."

"Really?" The initial reaction is that I want to jump for joy, but something bothers me.

Ann's smile falls. "What is it, Gemma? It's what you wanted."

A frown tugs at my mouth. "I don't know. It seems…too easy."

"Maybe we're finally catching a break," she offers. She looks lovely, standing there, able to be the one offering comfort for once. She deserves to have this all the time.

"Yes, maybe everyone else is fed up with Circe too. Oh wait, they are." Felicity grins wickedly. "Though I have the feeling Gemma shall be the one to do her in."

I flush. "Perhaps not," I say.

"She killed your mother," Kartik says. He picks a blade of grass and tears it in half violently. I swear I hear the blade scream.

"She killed _your _brother," I retaliate. "You have just as much a right to kill her as I do."

Kartik adapts a petulant look on his face as he crosses his arms. "I shan't have you until you come back with her head on your shield," he says girlishly. Felicity explodes with laughter.

"Maybe we'll _all _do her in," I say pointedly.

"Yes, that's right, we'll each have a turn hacking away at her neck," Felicity jokes. This time it is Simon's turn to laugh.

"I never knew you were such a comic, Felicity," Simon says.

"You never cared to find out," she says. Someone objective would think she is flirting with him, but I know Felicity. I can hear the accusation in her voice, the hurt. She loved Simon. It somehow doesn't surprises me; I think I've known it all along.

I change the subject. "Our allies?"

"Philon and the centaurs," Felicity says.

"Asha and the Untouchables." Ann corrects herself. "I mean, the Hajin."

"The Rakshana and the Poppy Warriors," I say.

"My brother and his followers," Kartik says, touching my hand lightly. "The gorgon as well."

"Me," Simon offers. "I will fight for your cause."

"So will I," says Tom.

"Tom?!" I'm speechless. "You barely know anything about this."

He reaches forward to clasp my hands. "Let me do something worthwhile for once, Gemma. Let me help my little sister."

"But Tom…what about Father? If something should happen to me…"

Kartik jerks his head warningly. _Gemma, let him help._

_But I don't want him to get hurt._

_You won't sway him._

_How do you know?_

_Male pride. Let him help. _

_But what can he do?_

Kartik is silent. Hah, I told him so. Male pride or not, Tom isn't suitable for this.

"Tom," I begin apologetically.

"Welcome to the Rakshana," Kartik blurts out. He glances sideways at me. "We shall need someone that knows medicine and healing. No doubt you're suitable for the job."

Healing was clearly not what Tom had in mind, but he seems satisfied despite it. "Thank you," he says formally.

"And then we have Kashvi," Felicity adds. "And us, of course."

Kartik exhales. "So I suppose all there is left to do is…" _Somehow get everyone together and prepared for battle._

"Oh this is impossible!" I say aloud. "How am I supposed to bring in all of the Rakshana?"

Kartik looks puzzled. "You won't have to. They can assist us if we need them in our world, but here we have the forgotten brothers. The Knights of the Poppy."

"How forgetful of me," I say in an unnaturally high voice.

Ann steps forward links arms with me. "We should go back, Gemma. You're under a lot of stress."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it," I grumble, pulling my arm away. Ann rolls her eyes and instinctively looks over at Tom, who is conversing with Simon. She tosses her hair and sashays to Felicity, and I cannot help but smile. For a moment it was as if our old Pippa was shining through Ann. It makes me realize just how much we have all become a part of each other. I also realize how much I owe it to the four girls giggling away the night in a cave to make sure that we all succeed, Pippa included.

"You look pensive," Kartik says quietly as he comes up from behind me. In the presence of the others the only sign of affection he offers is a light hand on my waist.

"Mmm," I agree.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd prefer if we were alone," I say softly.

"Then let's go back," he suggests. "We can talk all evening, and if you're really stressed out…" _I know tantric massage._

I look at him in surprise. _No, you don't!_

A wicked gleam lights his eyes. _I knew it once. Now's a good time to remember._

I can't wipe the silly grin from my face. "Gather round, everyone! It's time to go back!

* * *

We slip back into our room unnoticed, in a sense. My family is for the most part oblivious; they know where I am (not specifically where, of course), but they assume Kartik's mother is also present. Kashvi knows specifically where, but she can no longer object; as the Goddess and Dignitary fully awakened, Kartik and I technically have the final say in all matters. If we wish to be alone in our bedroom, then we shall not be disturbed.

The windows have been opened wide to the outside world and the purple glow of twilight casts the room into a romantic light. No edge is perfectly discernable, giving the illusion that everything is fusing together, dreamlike and hazy.

Kartik's lips are a brand on my skin, creating personalized stamps across my neck and shoulders. His fingers claim other parts of me, skimming over my body like a beachcomber searching for treasure. For now, it is his show, his turn to explore. I am bidden to relax while he melts and remolds me, again and again.

_You're unbelievably tense, Gem._

_I can't help it. I'm worried._

_Of what? We have wonderful allies._

_I know. It's just…_

Kartik places his hand between my breasts and gently pushes me back down into the pillows. An unspoken confession has me distraught, and even he does not know of it.

"What is it?" he murmurs. He strokes my cheek as if I am a precious doll. I know to him, I am.

I know I cannot keep this to myself for long. As much as I try to block it from him in my mind, there will always be an opportunity to steal his way in. I have no reasons to hide my insecurities, but I feel they just complicate matters.

"Tell me, Gem." Kartik rests his head against mine on the pillow. The warm, familiar scent of him is a reassurance, a lifeline.

"Seeing my friends today, I realized…I'm not a part of them anymore. I've come a long way since those nights in the cave. I'm not the same girl I used to be."

"And that upsets you?"

"No," I say. "I am happy with who I've turned out to be. But in growing together with you, I've left them behind."

"So _that _upsets you."

I think for a moment. "No," I admit. "What upsets me is that I feel like I'm not long to this world." I don't allow him a chance to comment. "I see Felicity and Ann now, and they've changed a great deal too. They've taken control of their lives and they're _happy. _That's all I could ever want for them. I look at my father, he's healed. Tom is finally opening his eyes to the world outside the gentry. Everyone I love is improving upon their lives, but…"

"But?"

"I'm no longer a part of it. If I were to die today, people would be sad, but they would move on. I'm not needed anymore."

My heart beats wildly in the absence of Kartik's response. His hand reaches to my waist and clutches me to him. "I need you," he says.

"And I need you," I murmur, turning my head for a kiss. Our conversation is put on hold for more pressing matters to occur.

"You're the only thing solid in my life," I say later on, as we lay on the rumpled sheets, gasping for breath. "Everything else…"

His eyes peer at me from behind a tangle of messy black hair. I push it back and place a kiss on his sweaty forehead. "And this future they're planning for us?" he asks, referring to our families.

For a moment I indulge myself with fantasizing about that future. Instead of escaping it all by choosing Kartik, we'd be thrust further into the spotlight. It'd be worse than being an ordinary society wife. He's a prince and therefore _all _gossip would be centered around us. There would be no privacy, no end to it.

"I don't want it," I confess.

He smiles. "Neither do I."

Our plans go unsaid between us. We agree that no one else should know of them until they are executed.

We nestle together under the plush duvet and warm sheets. Night has rolled in and the room is cast in near complete darkness.

"Are you afraid?" Kartik asks, running his thumb over my lips in a caress.

"No. Are you?"

"No."

"This is madness," I whisper.

He smiles sadly. "This will finally end it."

I sigh, finally feeling the benefits of having a lover. "Tomorrow," I say decisively. "It's better they don't see it coming, else they'd get too anxious."

Kartik's eyes are lanterns in the dark. "You still want them to be there?"

"When else will I get to say goodbye?"

* * *

_We're standing on the edge of a large, gaping hole in the rocky ground. White swirls in the air around us, it could be snow and ice, or hot ash from the burning land. Either way it freezes our skin into thinking it's burning. _

_I lean over to look down into the gash in the earth and shudder. It must be Hell down there. Black, pulsating darkness swirls, emanating evil and death. The distant sound of endless screams reaches my ears, the result of thousands slaughtered for the sake of evil._

'_This is it,' he says, the red bloom on his tunic the only color I can see. 'The source of it all.'_

'_Do you think you can do it?' I clasp his hands in mine, desperately feeling for his warmth. _

_He unsheathes his gleaming sword and hands it to me, hilt-first. The sword glows with my magic, our magic. 'We are one,' he says. 'And I know that we can do it.' I hand him his sword. He touches my amulet and kisses me. And then he jumps into the swirling black hole._

I wake with a start, my chest heaving with frantic breaths. "Kartik!" I shake him awake.

"What is it? What's the matter?" In the darkness, the whites of his eyes gleam.

The realization that it was just a dream does little to console me. I start to cry, knowing that all will end tomorrow. The intense nostalgia overwhelms me, but I can only verbalize one thing.

"Kartik, will you wait for me?" I ask, sobbing into his chest. He tightens his arms around me.

"I would never go off without you. Of course I'll wait."

"This is too much!"

"Shh," he soothes. "Gemma, think of the beauty of it. It's why we're here."

"But what if I never see you again? What of this really ends it all?"

He is silent. I know the same fear strikes through his very core. I feel him try to grasp at logic, to think of some way to reassure us both.

"There must be a place for us if we do not come back. You are the Goddess; you cannot be replaced."

"And what about you?"

Kartik shifts his weight. His skin is so warm against mine that I cannot possibly imagine that tomorrow it will grow cold. "There is no light without shadow, day without night, high without low." He faces me. "And there is no Gemma without Kartik." He grins. "Wherever you go, you can be damn sure I'll find a way to follow."

* * *

"What do _you _want, Emily?" Pippa folds her arms over her bloodied bodice.

"I just want to talk to you."

"Oh?" She sneers evilly, revealing her jagged teeth.

Emily shudders. "I know how you feel. Being used and such," she blurts out. "But you cannot use that as an excuse to turn against loved ones."

"You don't know anything!" Pippa screeches.

"Circe is lying to you Pippa! She's lying to us all!"

"What makes you think that?"

Emily sighs. "Unless you cross over, you'll never get to be with your friends again. Miss Worthington will not come to the Winterlands."

"But she loves me."

"And that's why she wants you to cross, Pippa."

Pippa uncrosses her arms and bows her head. A few flowers fall from her crown. "I'm tired of this," she says. "Of all of this."

"Then cross," Emily says gently. "It's not good to live your…death in spite."

"I want to," Pippa whispers. "But I can't now."

"Amar thinks you still can."

Pippa bites her lip, drawing blood. It no longer fuels her hunger. She turns to Emily. "Help me," she pleads.

"We will."

**Hmm, foreshadowing much?**

**Sex isn't just recreational for Kartik and Gemma - it's spiritual. That's why they've now done it 4 times in two days. Or maybe they're just horny teenagers. That is also true.**

**The end is VERY NEAR! I must say, I hope I get to 500 reviews when I finish. That's a good, solid number I think. And considering this story drained the life out of me for oh, how many months now? June, July, August, September, now October... without many delays. I must have a good attention span. Hmm.**

**Okay, so what are your thoughts? Good, bad, ugly? **

**Ummmmm,  
LunaEquus**

**Please review!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Here it is - THE FINAL CHAPTER! Enjoy!**

The pale light of dawn seeps in through the open windows, gently prying my eyes to open. A blue hue fills the room, and all is quiet. Kartik sits at the foot of the bed, a silhouette against the window, already dressed for the most part. He does not yet know that I'm awake. I watch quietly as he pulls his socks on sluggishly, almost as if he does not want the day to start. I cannot blame him; neither do I.

He sits for a moment, slumped in weariness. In a graceful motion, he falls back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling.

"Morning," I whisper. He turns his doleful eyes to me.

"It can still be counted as night if you wish."

I reach out and touch his cheek. "The sky is light. A new day awaits us all."

Kartik closes his eyes briefly. "Gemma, I don't want my mother to see it happen."

"Then we'd better leave soon."

I dress quickly as Kartik catches a few more minutes of rest. With my white dress and golden armbands, I look like something straight from a pantomime, so I am thankful that most still sleep as we make our way to Felicity and Ann's.

A black cat with white socks darts across the road in front of us. Kartik stops, a grin spreading across his face. "Could it be?"

"Karma?" I ask, thinking of the kitten we once owned.

He laughs and slips an arm around my waist. "What goes around, comes around. It all comes full circle, doesn't it?"

"How ironic," I say, accepting the hand he offers me. There are no other disturbances on our way.

Just outside, Kartik takes me by the shoulders. "Gemma, we don't need to involve them."

"Don't be silly, Kartik. They are my sisters. We must."

"But they won't want to see -,"

I cut him off with a hasty kiss. "If you recall, dearest, you weren't originally part of the picture. They were, and Pippa." I close my eyes in a silent prayer. "They need to be a part of it, for all our sakes. I need them."

"If that is what you wish…"

"It _is,_" I reassure him.

Ann is the one who answers the door, no doubt because Felicity couldn't be bothered from her beauty rest. She is surprised to see us, but not at all irritable.

"What a nice surprise. Come in, I'm just making tea."

I frown at her unusually chipper tone. Why on earth would she be awake at this hour, let alone making tea? I glance at Kartik and understand that he shares my skepticism.

_Perhaps she is a morning person?_

_I suppose. _I bite my lip. Ann wasn't really much of an anything person before. She was just Ann.

_I see you never told your brother._

_Yes, with luck he won't notice I'm missing._

Just as the thoughts stream through my mind, Tom walks into the room in a robe and his slippers, rubbing groggily at his eyes. He freezes as he sees me, and I do the same.

"_Tom?_"

"Gemma? What are you doing here at this hour? What are you_wearing_?"

"I might ask you the same!"

We stand there, gaping at each other, until Ann shuffles back in with a tray of tea. Suddenly her good mood is explained. I grab her wrist (she doesn't flinch) and pull her aside.

"Ann! You _didn't_!" I hiss.

She smiles. "No, I didn't. We were so caught up in talking, he decided to stay the night."

I study her face and know immediately that she is lying. "I see. Such a convenience he had his nightclothes with him." Ann blushes, obviously delighted. I cannot help but smile for her, and for my brother as well.

"Yes, let's _all _be loud so that Felicity cannot possibly get any more sleep!" Felicity stomps into the room, wearing her robe opened over her silk nightgown. Upon seeing Kartik and Tom, she looks down at herself and shrugs, obviously not at all preoccupied with her modesty, or lack thereof.

"What is going on?" Tom presses, looking from Kartik to me.

"An impromptu trip to the realms," I respond.

"What for?" Ann asks.

"Breakfast," Kartik quips. I know he is just trying to lighten the mood. Silence falls on us all like a heavy blanket. It's smothering and dark, but none of us care to fight our way out. I know I must be the one to speak first.

"It's time," I say.

"Time for what?" Felicity asks, the high octave of her voice the only thing betraying her panic. She casts a warning look at Kartik, should he try his sarcasm again.

"Time to end this," I whisper. "We're ready."

"But…" Ann's voice trails off. "We don't know what to do."

I place a hand over my heart, feeling the heartbeats of centuries' wisdom coursing through my veins. "Trust me."

The room is so silent that I can hear the slight whistle of wind entering the apartment through a tiny crack in the window's molding. Ann shuffles her slippered feet. "I suppose we should dress for the occasion, shouldn't we?"

Kartik and I sit together on the couch as the three of them go off to dress. In the lull of activity, doubt begins to seep into my conscious. "Kartik, I -,"

He squeezes my hand. "Don't think," he instructs.

I laugh. "Easier said then done."

"Would you have wanted it any other way?" He presses his forehead to mine. Visions of stuffy dresses and petty gossip fill my mind. I cannot live the rest of my life like that. Instead I long for a place where we can be together where race and expectations are nothing. If I must sacrifice now for then I will.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Felicity demands. She glares venomously at me, for I am the one that stands by Gemma's side, not her. I have since dressed in my armor.

"The Winterlands," Gemma says calmly. Her friends shriek in denial.

"But we're not ready!"

"We _are_," Gemma says, placing a hand on Ann's forearm. "You may stay here if you wish, but then I fear I may never see you again."

"Gemma, what are you saying? You're not yourself!" Tom eyes his sister as if she is a stranger.

"No Tom, I'm _not _myself. Gemma's been gone for awhile."

I frown. _Gem, what are you saying?_

She smiles placidly in return. _Better to let them think I'm not the girl they loved. It's easier to let go that way._

_How do you know that?_

_It is the same with Pippa._

"Shall we?" Gemma pushes through the thick brush towards the path that leads to the Borderlands and beyond, to the Winterlands. Her friends reluctantly follow, sharing between them looks of worry and upset. I watch Gemma for a moment, the sunset glowing golden on her fair hair. She is incredible, but I know that she is right. She isn't really Gemma anymore, and I am not really Kartik.

We have already become the latent personalities of our past, like Hypatia and Alexios. I wonder for some day in the future, if some redheaded girl might suddenly have a memory of kissing an Indian boy at a Gypsy camp. I know one thing is for certain – I know that she will smile.

* * *

I nudge Kartik gently. "There is Amar," I whisper over the howling wind. I know Kartik can hear me anyway.

It appears Amar decided to act without us. He is engaged in battle alongside many of the tortured souls that wish to overthrow Circe. Circe fights back, but she is clearly outmatched.

"What is this then?" Tom asks. "Are we not needed to fight after all?"

"It appears that we aren't," Felicity says, watching the battle intently.

Circe has caught wind of us. She turns, her form disfigured from the evil plights. Her time as a beloved schoolteacher is long past. She is a monster, a murderer.

"Lady Hope," she spits, reaching towards me. For a moment, I'm frozen, but this is not so for Kartik and Amar. They both leap towards her, as if mirror images of each other. Amar reaches her first.

"Not so nice on this side of the blade is it?" he hisses, holding a machete to her neck.

She laughs. "Oh Amar, always talking, never acting." She pushes away from him, drawing an orb of swirling blackness in her hand. Kartik draws his sword; at the noise, Circe turns on him. "And the little novitiate," she growls. "Haven't you had enough?" She hurls the crackling orb at Kartik, who deftly deflects it with the blade of his sword.

Amar catches my eye and looks intently at the back of Circe's head. He raises his machete and brings it down diagonally, slicing straight across her neck. The wind screams with agony as the monster's head falls to the ground with a sickening thump. Ann cries out in disgust. The head rolls to a stop near my feet.

All around, the voices of the undead chorus in celebration. "We are finally free!" Amar cries out, embracing Kartik. Circe's trackers wither away to ashes, but I know the fight is not finished.

"You're not free, Amar," I whisper. "You've just made a sacrifice."

"What?" he asks worriedly. The air falls silent as the dry land accepts Circe's body. A low groan rumbles throughout the vast expanse of barren land. A gaping hole begins to form where Circe's body one fell. Suddenly, my dream makes sense.

"Kartik," I say sharply, my voice startling everyone within earshot. "Grab Amar."

"What?" Kartik rests a hand on Amar's shoulder uncertainly. Amar's body goes rigid. "What's happening?" Kartik asks in a panic.

"He's becoming corrupted."

On cue, Amar's deep brown eyes seem to hollow, a milky white eating into his irises and pupils, until only a pinprick of black remains. A ghastly snarl forms on his face.

"Amar?" Kartik tightens his grasp on his brother. The hole in the earth grows larger, emitting sounds of death and despair. I gaze briefly into the depths, finally understanding how the Winterlands work. Through sacrifice, evil prevails. Good intentions are turned to bad through acts of murder. Though Amar sought to set free the many spirits taken by such evil, he in turn has become corrupted by killing the captor. It is a never-ending chain of death, with the hopes of more souls being thrown into the heart of evil, to fuel it like wood fuels a stove. Amar is meant to be thrown into this pit of death, but the person who does so becomes the next one destined for it as well.

It takes self sacrifice, an act of love, to stop it.

"Amar, no!" A high-pitched shriek resounds. Pippa comes running from the crowds, her tangled hair flying wild. "I told you I'd be the one," she cries, trying to push past Kartik. "You didn't need to corrupt yourself!"

"Pippa?" Felicity is horrorstruck. Felicity grabs her from Kartik, who is struggling to keep his brother from killing someone.

I reach out to Kartik, as the pandemonium has since increased with Pippa's appearance. _Kartik, it's time._

_Someone needs to hold Amar for me._

"Tom," I say over the noise. "I need your help!"

"What is it?" His blue eyes are wide and fearful, but his face is set in determination.

"You need to hold Amar down. Kartik is needed elsewhere."

"Amar?" He gestures to the struggle between the two brothers and gulps nervously.

"I'll help," Simon cuts in from nowhere. He smiles down at me. "That's a very interesting look, Miss Doyle. I daresay it suits you better than the average fashion."

"Thank you, Simon," I say warmly.

"Let's go subdue a madman, then," he says breezily, taking a reluctant Tom to relieve Kartik of his corrupted brother.

"An act of love," I whisper, embracing Kartik once he limps toward me. Amar's machete had connected with his thigh. "We can save him. We can save them all."

We kiss, deeply and meaningfully. It will be our last kiss in life. Kartik hands me his sword without pulling his lips from mine. I can feel the blade glow white-hot with our ancient magic. I hand it back and pull away. The swords hums and shimmers in Kartik's gloved hand. "You're ready," I say.

He cups my cheek. "I will be waiting for you."

A single tear escapes my eye. "I know."

Kartik perches at the edge of the pit of undulating evil. "I love you, Gemma."

I twirl the poppy flower he left in my palm. "I love you too, Kartik."

He smiles at me, the same smile that had me bewitched back at Spence. And then he leaps into the chasm, sacrificing himself to strike at the heart of evil itself. Tears stream down my cheeks freely now as I feel every blow against him.

"Gemma?" Felicity sidles up to me, flanked by Pippa and Ann. "What is the matter? Where is Kartik?"

I can only shake my head in answer. Though I cannot see him, I know he fights valiantly. My fighter, my Dignitary, my love.

Amar's struggles begin to cease. Ann gasps as Pippa's eyes begin to return to their beautiful violet again. I feel faint and dizzy, as if part of my soul has just been ripped away. It is over. Kartik is dead.

All around us, the Winterlands are changing. Grass grows thick and green, and the twisted tree unfurls itself like a newborn butterfly. The sky is blue again, the clouds white instead of red. Evil is gone from this land. People are rejoicing, but they sound faraway. I am not long for this world.

I unclasp the Crescent Eye from my neck and place it in Felicity's hand. "Fee, Ann, I want you to do something for me." They eye me warily. "You must lead the Order from now."

"But Gemma," Ann interrupts.

"No Ann, my time is up. It is your turn now, and I am faithful in you both. I want you to lead all of these spirits to cross over. Make certain that they do. Then I want you to take Tom home, and close the realms for good."

"But, what about you?" Tears stream down Felicity's cheeks.

"I will be where I am supposed to be," I whisper.

"Gemma," Pippa cries. "I'm sorry for everything!" Her perfect cheeks are flushed from crying.

"You can cross now, Pip," I say. "You deserve to." I embrace her tightly, then Felicity, then Ann. "One more thing. In the master bedroom in the house on Marylebone Road, you will find a black suitcase filled with ten thousand pounds. I want you both to have it. And please tell Kashvi not to worry. She will help you rebuild the Order."

I smile through my tears. "I love you all!"

"Gemma? What is this?" Tom touches my elbow.

My heart sinks. "Tom, please do not worry for me. Tell Father the truth. Tell him I'm still with you all. I will be." I kiss my brother's cheek and pull away.

"Gemma?" he cries out in panic. "What are you talking about? You're not…dead, are you?"

"Good bye!" I cry out. "I love you all!" I turn around and run as fast as I can towards the Cave of Sighs, praying the shock won't wear off before I get far enough away.

Asha is pleased to see me. "You did well, Lady Hope."

"Thank you." My breath is labored, and dark spots form before my eyes. In the real world, I'd think I was about to faint, but I know better here. I am about to die.

"This is for you." Asha hands me an elaborate goblet filled with a golden liquid that smells faintly of honey. "The Dignitary has already had his share. It is time for you to join him."

I gaze into the amber depths of the goblet and swirl the liquid around. "Nectar of the gods," I murmur, bringing it to my lips. I drink the sweet liquid until there is no more, and then I know I am no longer alive. In the distance I can see my friends, leading many to their freedom. My heart swells with love.

I bow to Asha and step through the wall of water. I pass the well and go through the wall into our private temple. From where I stand, I see him, waist-deep in water, gazing at me. "Kartik," I whisper. He grins as I let the white dress slip from my shoulders to the marble floor. I descend the steps into the pool.

"Gemma," he murmurs, pulling me to him. Water laps hungrily at us as we kiss. "I have been waiting."

With a nostalgic sigh, I allow myself to melt into him. It all comes full circle.

**FINISHED!!! LOL cue Spence University, or Sweet Misery. Yes, just picture that they find each other again in our time. Wow. This story turned out COMPLETELY different than I had initially planned. Ah well. I wrote it "organically", so that's why. If you didn't catch it, the last scene was Gemma's first memory of Alexios and Hypatia, only it's her and Kartik instead.**

**So yeah, MANY thanks to all of the reviewers! You are the wind beneath my wings, if I had wings. Special thanks to GxK, who was an unofficial beta-er and overall cheerleader when I was ready to throw in the towel.**

**So I hope you all liked this ending! There's no way I'm going to rewrite it, so there. Thoughts?**

**This is a HUGE weight off her shoulders,  
LunaEquus**

**PLEASE REVIEW! So close to 500! SO CLOSE!**


End file.
